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FRANZ HOFFMANN. 

©vwtaUrt fom tlu (Sn’nutn, 


M. A. MANDERSON. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
LUTHERAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION. 
1870 . 

Cr 


..HuisA-n 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by the 
LUTHERAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States in 
and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 


STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN & SON, PHILADELPHIA. 



CANTON PRESS OF 
SHERMAN k CO., PHILADELPHIA. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE FISHERMAN’S COTTAGE 

CHAPTER II 

THE OVERFLOW OF THE RHINE 

CHAPTER III 

THE HUT IN THE FOREST . 


CHAPTER IV. 

DER VO GEL HERD . 


CHAPTER V 

BEARDING THE LION IN HIS DEN . 

vii 


PAGE 

9 


. 31 


. 72 


98 


. 123 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER VI. 

PAGE 

PERSECUTION 139 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE STRANGERS RETURN 154 







CHAPTER I. 



THE FISHERMAN’S COTTAGE. 

Godliness with contentment is great gain.” 

N one of the most beautiful portions of 
Germany, upon the banks of the Rhine, 
scarcely half a mile distant from the vil- 
lage, but completely hidden from view by shelter- 
ing bush and garden, stood a lowly cottage. Far 
above it, a high hill, covered from base to summit 
with an undergrowth of green, abruptly reared its 
head, crowned with a magnificent, stately castle. 

How very humble the cottage looked ! yet so 
bright and neat, with its snow-white walls, its 
windows glistening in the sunshine — so sweet and 


10 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

graceful, with its clambering roses and mantling 
vines, which, with their loving tendrils and lux- 
uriant foliage, clothed wall and thatched roof 
with beauty, that the thought involuntarily 
arose : “ Surely the dwellers of that bright, 
embowered cottage are good, contented, and 
happy, although, it may be, poor.” 

Happiness and content were certainly to be 
found beneath the roof of the fisherman’s cottage ; 
and Poverty, with her evil train, want, penury, 
and misery, had never passed the threshold. 
Neither were riches and abundance theirs, but 
what cared Anton the fisher and his good wife 
Marie for these ? They were content with their 
cottage, their stall, which sheltered the dear 
brown-spotted cow, and their two goats, which 
sported upon the neighboring hills: then, too, 
twelve motherly hens clucked and scratched in 
the little farm-yard, or, lustily cackling, pro- 
claimed the fresh-laid egg. But cow, goats, and 
hens were not the only possessions of Anton. 
Behind the cottage lay a beautiful large garden ; 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 11 

beyond it, a pretty meadow, fragrant with grass 
and herbs ; and still farther, a good broad range 
of field-land, where Anton in adverse years raised 
not only enough corn and potatoes for himself 
and family, but also for the enclosed inmates of 
stall and farm-yard, and, when the season was 
good, sold the surplus for bright, ready money. 
And besides these, had he not his boat, his nets, 
and Father Rhine with his fishes? which none 
knew better than he how to entice. And beyond 
all, did he not dwell in a wondrously lovely 
country ? one more charming could scarcely be 
found in all Germany. 

Even to dwell in the midst of a charming 
landscape is in itself a rich possession. Only those 
are truly forlorn and to be pitied, who, by the 
force of circumstances, are compelled to exchange 
such a country for a dreary, desert plain, where 
the eye sees nothing but continuous heath, sand, 
dark fir-tree, or sterile field, overshadowed by a 
heaven of unchanging gray: then the longing 
soul reverts continually to the lovely, bloom- 


12 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

ing land, with its sunny, vine-covered hills, its 
shadowy woods, and the glorious streams in whose 
clear flow mountain, castle, and town are mir- 
rored. 

It was evening. Serenely the sun sank down 
to his rest, and, as he bade adieu, bathed heaven 
and earth in a glow of golden light. The air 
was calm, although one had heard since noon the 
distant mutterings of thunder, and there lay now 
upon the far-distant horizon a mantle of dark-gray 
cloud. Upon a low w r ooden bench beside the door 
of the cottage sat Marie, the wife of the fisher, busily 
cutting the long, green bean-pods which she had 
just plucked for the morrow’s dinner. A clear, 
sweet voice was heard from out the kitchen win- 
dow, which stood wide open, singing a simple, 
touching ballad, well known to all the dwellers 
upon the banks of the Ehine. Low down toward 
the shore a stalwart man was mending a boat : 
it was the fisher, Anton, who was preparing for 
the business of the following day, which in the 
early morning would precede the first beams of 














ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 13 

the sun. Upon the waters of the Khine, large sail- 
ing-vessels as well as smaller craft float up and 
down, and occasionally a clear huzza is heard 
from on board ship or boat, as they pass by the 
shore where the fisher is at work, which is re- 
turned by Anton with a wave of his light cap 
and an answering shout, as he for a moment sus- 
pends his work. 

Not far from the cottage a narrow road wound 
toward the village: it was now quiet, for the 
vine-dressers had returned to their homes, and 
only now and then a solitary belated traveller 
was to be seen, to whom the young wife of the 
fisher gave a friendly “ God greet you, and good 
night.” 

“ Father might stop working now : he has surely 
done enough through the day,” said Wilhelm, a 
pretty, rosy-cheeked boy of nine or ten years old, to 
his mother. “ Even old Martin has gone past, who 
is always the last at his vineyard. Why need 
father tire himself more than our neighbors in the 
village ? ” 

2 


14 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

“ He well knows that it is necessary for him to 
work, Wilhelm,” answered his mother, smiling, 
and stroking the glowing cheeks of the boy. “ But 
look : it seems to me as if father had just driven 
the last nail in the plank, for he has laid the axe 
aside, and is now wiping the sweat from his brow. 
Run down quickly, and help him carry his tools ! ” 

The boy sprang up at once, and ran down to 
his father. Anton threw him aloft, then caught 
him in his strong arms, pressed him to his breast, 
and kissed him upon his full red lips. 

“Why in such haste, Willie? what news do 
you bring? are the fish ready, and am I to come to 
supper?” said he. 

“I do not know, father,” answered the boy, 
amidst the boisterous caresses of the fisher ; “ but 
I do know that you could make this a holiday 
evening, if you would only tell us a story of 
the olden time — of monsters and dragons, or of 
Knight Roland, of the great Emperor Karl, or of 
the horned Siegfried ! Pray do, dear father ! An- 
nie has been expecting it so long, and mother is 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN 15 

always ready to listen to any beautiful story you 
have to tell us. Let me carry the axe, father, 
and the nail-box : they will not be too heavy for 
me; then you can take the rest of the things, 
and we will not have to return.” 

“ Now I see why you are in such haste,” said 
his father, smiling and shaking his head. “ I fear 
you will be disappointed, Willie ; for see, the sun 
has gone down, and my boat must be put in order. 
If I am not greatly mistaken, much rain will fall 
during the night. So carry the nails, axe, and 
other tools to the house, and I in the' meanwhile 
will draw the boat higher up on shore.” 

“ But afterward, father — afterward? ” 

“ We will see if sister Louisa can give us time 
before supper, for you know after that you little 
ones must go to bed. But mother beckons to us : 
the fish must be broiled, and we must hasten, or 
they will be cold.” 

“ Oh ! what a shame, that we will not hear a 
story to-day,” lamented Willie while he raised the 
heavy axe upon his shoulder, and lifted the box 


16 ANTON , TIIE FISHERMAN. 

of nails. “ But, to-morrow, father — is it not so — 
to-morrow you will tell us ? ” 

“ Should there be nothing of importance to do, 
my child, I will,” said Anton, consolingly. “ For 
to-day we will close our work, and our God be 
thanked for all his past goodness and mercy. 
Go on Willie!” 

The boy dragged his load up from the shore, 
and the father bore upon his strong arms and 
shoulders his boat to the cottage. The shore was 
not steep, and the ascent to the cottage not diffi- 
cult, but he was obliged to set it down several 
times, and rest, before the goal was reached. 

“Why are you taking so much trouble, An- 
ton,” said his wife. “ The boat would be just as 
safe there as up here : you will only be obliged 
to carry it down to-morrow.” 

“ That will not be as hard as bringing it up,” 
answered Anton with a smile, giving at the same 
time his hard, strong hand to his wife. “ Do you 
not know that ‘ prevention is better than cure ’ ? 
Father Rhine has his grumblings — hark! there 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 17 


is heavy thunder : in all probability it will rain ; 
and if the river should rise over night, our boat 
might be drawn down the stream. Better to 
guard against than complain, Marie.” 

“ The storm may not prove so dangerous as you 
anticipate : you are too solicitous, Anton ! ” said 
his wife, half reproachfully, half tenderly, her 
left arm thrown around him, and wiping with the 
corner of her apron his heated brow. “You work 
more than there is any necessity for, and are 
more industrious than any of our neighbors.” 

“ I work because it is a pleasure : is it not for 
thee and our children ? Thou too art always busy, 
Marie: our little cottage and family consume all 
thy time ; that basket-full of beans is proof of 
thy industry. Why were men placed in this 
world, if not to labor? Would you like me, Marie, 
to exchange with our baron above there? See, his / 
windows even now seem to us down here to gleam 
like flames of fire. Poor old man ! Excess and 
weariness allow him no' true pleasure. Or shall 
I exchange with his son, the young knight 


2 * 


B 


18 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

Ottfried ? God forbid ! he does not know how to 
employ usefully one hour of the long day, and he 
in his youth is still worse off than his father. 
No, no, God preserve to me that which now 
is mine — my noble wife, my children, and my 
health — and I will ‘sing unto the Lord as long 
as I live : I will sing praise unto my God while 
I have my being.’ ” 

“ Dear Anton,” said his wife, earnestly, “ you 
are so content, you envy no man’s good, and yet 
your life, from youth up, has been full of trouble 
and deprivation.” 

“ Trouble ? deprivation ? ” questioned Anton, 
in astonishment. “ Of what have I been deprived ? 
have I not every blessing that heart could desire? 
What could one ask more of our Father in hea- 
ven, and what should call forth more gratitude, 
than health and our daily bread ? ” 

“ But when you become old and weak, Anton?” 

“ Have we not our children ? ” said the fisher- 
man, casting a fond, bright glance upon the little 
ones, wha at that moment came up from the shore 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 19 


carrying the few remaining tools. “When we 
are old and weak, will they not be young and 
strong, and care for us, even as we have cared for 
them in their helpless childhood ? Why should 
we ‘take thought for the morrow’? God has 
helped us — is now helping us — and he will help 
us to the end. Have you so little confidence in 
the Almighty, my wife, that you thus dwell upon 
past misfortunes and coming evils, while happi- 
ness is in our very midst ? ” 

With much emotion Marie pressed the hand 
of her husband. But now appeared in the door 
of the cottage a blooming young girl of fourteen 
or fifteen years, who told them the fish were 
thoroughly browned and must no longer be over 
the fire. 

“ Bring them at once,” answered Anton ; “ my 
appetite shall do honor to your skill ! but bring 
them out into the open air ! why should we be 
cramped in the narrow room, while God’s beauti- 
ful world lies spread abroad so gloriously around 


us?” 


20 ANTON \ THE FISHERMAN. 

“ But the table is already set,” answered the 
maiden, somewhat perplexed; “and while I move 
it, the fish may burn.” 

“Then let the removal be our care,” said 
Anton, good-humoredly. “ Be quick, Marie, we 
will carry the table out, and Willie and Anna 
can bring the chairs : be brisk, and in a moment 
all will be accomplished ! The table w T as soon 
placed upon a grassy spot near the cottage door, 
the children brought the chairs, and before Louisa 
came bearing the delicious broiled fish, every- 
thing was in beautiful order. Willie repeated a 
short prayer, and then the father divided the 
simple repast — to each an abundance, and to 
each one did it taste most exquisitely, because 
provided by the skill and industry of their father. 
After the frugal meal, the children bade them a 
cheerful good-night and were taken to their beds 
by Louisa ; after which it was not long until the 
diligent maiden had restored every plate and 
bowl to its proper place. 

Anton and his wife were once more alone, and 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 21 

gazed with peaceful hearts out into the beautiful, 
fragrant, summer landscape. The glow of the 
evening had vanished, hut a soft faint twilight 
glimmered in the distance, and now the full moon 
arose, flooding the whole landscape with a mellow, 
radiant light. A gentle breeze from the river 
cooled and refreshed them after the sultry day : 
in the remotest distance the lightning quivered. 

A long time had Anton and Marie sat thus 
silently, communing with their own thoughts, 
when they w r ere aroused by hasty footsteps, and 
on the instant Louisa appeared in the clear 
moonshine, hastening toward the river. 

“Where so late, Louisa, my child?” said 
Anton, as she passed by. 

“ Only to do some washing and rinsing,” 
returned the maiden’s clear voice. “ The evening 
is mild and pleasant, and when I rise early in 
the morning the clothes will all be dry. I have 
strung the line in the garden.” 

And as fleetly as she came, so she vanished ; 
and soon from the river came the sound of plash- 


22 ANTON \ THE FISHERMAN. 

ing water, caused by the exertion of Louisa’s 
energetic arms. 

“Noble girl! noble to the very depths of her 
heart,” said Anton, after a pause; “ever busy, 
ever content, and ever cheering us with her sweet 
songs. The dear child has surely brought a 
blessing into our little cottage ! 

“ Oh ! Anton, dear husband,” said Marie, in a 
voice full of emotion, “ you bear also this burden 
I have placed upon you, w T ith patience and kind- 
ness ; you have, in all these many years, never 
spoken to her save with words of love; and 
yet—” 

“Well — yet? Speak, Marie,” said Anton, as 
his wife hesitated. 

“ It is one burden more for you,” she said, weep- 
ing : “ you would not have to labor so severely 
if Louisa were not with us.” 

“ How so, wife? ” returned the fisher, with mild 
reproof. “Louisa, thy sister’s child, a care, a 
burden for me ? she who is constantly adding to 
our happiness by her cheerfulness and diligence, 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 23 

who, from early dawn until twilight, is ever as 
active as now ? Have you forgotten how she cared 
for you, last spring, when you were sick ? or, how 
she watched beside the couch of our little Anna, 
taking no thought for herself, in that most malig- 
nant of fevers ? Should she be a burden to me ? 
Now, good wife, what further fancies to-day ?” 

“ Ah ! I have been thinking how much freer 
from care and more fortunate you would have 
been, Anton, if you had never seen me,” said 
Marie. “ When we were married, I did not ex- 
pect to come empty-handed into thy house; for all 
thought the school-master of Emmenbach, my 
dear father, was a wealthy man. Then, when, a 
few weeks after our marriage, my father died, 
then it appeared that — ah ! I am ever unhappy 
when I think of that sorrowful day ! ” 

“ What appeared then, my dear wife ? ” asked 
Anton, while he tenderly stroked her cheeks still 
wet with tears ; “ what appeared ? ” 

“ Thou knowest, Anton,” she continued. “ The 
merchant in Bonn, to whom our father confided 


24 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

all our little fortune, because he thought him his 
most faithful friend — when he became a bankrupt, 
and a fugitive, then we, of all our father possessed, 
received not even a kreuzer ; and so it happened 
that poor Louisa became a desolate orphan. And 
finally the baron too denied the debt of five 
hundred gulden, which my father lent him, one 
year before his death, in my presence. So thou, 
poor Anton, instead of bettering thy' circum- 
stances by bringing me to thy cottage — thou 
hast only made them worse ; and often, often my 
heart is heavy, when I think of this.” 

She still wept as before. Anton pressed her 
to his breast, and tenderly kissed her brow. 

“ My dear wife,” said he, “ have you entirely 
forgotten what a treasure the dear Lord has 
given me in thee ? Dwell not happiness, peace, 
and tender love beneath the roof of our little 
cottage ? Have I to tell thee again and again 
that I would not exchange thee and my dear 
children for all the treasures of the world ? No, 
no, Marie ! wealth does not bring happiness : that 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 25 

is only to be found in a satisfied, contented spirit. 
Our God has always helped us, and for this let us 
praise him with all our hearts, and glorify his 
name forevermore. ‘ The young lions do lack, and 
suffer hunger : but they that seek the Lord shall 
not want any good thing/ He has blessed our 
land, and my nets, so that we need not care for 
the morrow. Why lament over losses we can so 
easily bear ? ~No more of this, dear wife ; we know 
that they shall all work together for our good. 
That man in whom your father confided, can he 
not one day return, and replace all that he, from 
the pressure of circumstances, could not save 
from the whirlpool which swallowed him up in 
its depths. Your father always believed him to 
be a just man ; and when he fled, we knew he was 
no fraudulent bankrupt. He deserved far more 
compassion than contempt and hatred. Let us 
cast no stone upon the fallen.” 

“ I hate him not : I only grieve that we were 
involved in his misfortuno,” answered Marie. 
“ But the baron ! have you excuses for him ? he 


3 


26 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 

is rich : is it not shameful that he denies his 
debt ? If we only had that five hundred gulden, 
we could purchase two acres of field-land, and 
give no thought to the morrow. No! whatever 
excuse you may offer, Anton, I despise the baron.” 

“And I pity him,” answered the fisherman, 
reflectively. “ There are many secrets whispered 
about the old lord, and if he does not pay his 
debt, may it not rather be because he cannot, 
than because he will not ? * All is not gold that 

glitters,’ and the baron, in his magnificent castle, 
is not so light and joyous in mind as are we in 
our humble cottage. If one could but fathom 
the heart of man, probing its very depths, ah ! 
there would often be found anguish, trouble, 
care, and bitterness, in place of the looked-for 
joy and happiness. Think no more of the baron! 
Who knows but that he has paid back long ago 
the five hundred gulden to thy father ? ” 

“ No ; oh ! no,” returned the young wife with 
decision ; “ a short time before his death he re- 
minded me of the loan ; so that I could not for- 


ANTON \ THE FISHERMAN 27 

get it ; and I have no doubt but that he would 
have shown me the place where he kept the 
bond, had not death so suddenly overtaken him.” 

“The bond has vanished; let us think no 
more about it,” said Anton. “I would much 
rather find out something about the father of our 
dear Louisa, who has not been heard of for so 
many years. Did your father never tell you 
anything about him, Marie ? ” 

“ Nothing. He knew not whether he was dead 
or alive.” 

“Do you know nothing of his past history, 
after he became acquainted with your poor sister 
Anna, and came to your house to live ? ” 

“ But very little,” answered Marie. “ At that 
time I was but a child, and remember him only 
as a handsome, stately man, with large, earnest 
black eyes, and dark curly hair. He was wan- 
dering up the Bhine, and came on foot to our 
house one evening, intending to journey farther; 
but, instead of doing so, remained with us, not 
only the next day, but many days and weeks, 


28 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 

under the pretence of learning the German lan- 
guage from father. Afterward he married my 
poor sister ; then he left us, and never, never 
returned. My sister, in silent grief, awaited 
his return, and, after two or three years, God 
took her to himself. She died in the firm con- 
viction that her husband had passed away, and 
she -would meet him again in heaven. After 
Anna’s death my father never spoke of him, but 
he loved the little Louisa with his whole heart. 
He too believed in Oscar’s death ; and who could 
entertain a doubt but that the poor fellow had 
suddenly been called away. He may have been 
shipwrecked ; for when he bade us farewell, he 
said he intended visiting Scotland, his native 
country. Perhaps he died there of sudden dis- 
ease, or perished by accident among the moun- 
tains of his fatherland : certain it is, however, 
that through some unavoidable fate he was pre- 
vented from returning to us; for he was good 
and noble, and loved us even as we loved 
him.” 


ANTON \ THE FISHERMAN 29 


“ And did your father never make any inquiry 
about him ? ” said Anton. 

“He wrote to Scotland, but his letter re- 
turned unopened. Poor man, he could not be 
traced.” * 

“ Ten or eleven years have passed since then,” 
said Anton, “ no one hearing of him during all 
that time ! Then we must surely, even though 
with reluctance, give up all hope of his return. 
I fear that our poor Louisa has indeed but 
her Father in heaven ; and so much the more is 
it our duty — we who are her nearest relatives — 
to cherish the desolate orphan. But see ! she is 
returning from the river, and I do not wish her 
to know we have been speaking of her or her 
father. The air, too, from the river is cold. Let 
the past rest, as we too seek rest for the 
night.” 

Soon deep stillness reigned : far in the distance 
quivered the lightning; the thunder was not 
distinct, but mingled its low mutterings with the 
soft murmurs of the Rhine, whose restless waves 


3 * 


30 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

ever hastened toward the sea. Within the little 
cottage all was repose ; the tired dwellers slept, 
after the burden and heat of the day, the soft 
refreshing sleep of the just. 






CHAPTER II. 

THE OVERFLOW OF THE RHINE. 

“When thou passest through the waters, I will be with 
thee ; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.” 


||||®jgi||T was about two or three o’clock in the 
EH fl&l morn i n g> when the fisherman suddenly- 
awoke from his deep slumber. Half 
dreaming, he listened. A singular roaring sound- 
ed in his ear. It seemed to him as though he sat 
in his fishing-boat, and the swelling waves beat 
against the shore. Dense darkness surrounded 
him, for the moon had long gone down. 

“ What can it be ? ” murmured Anton to him- 
self. “ Do I dream, or am I awake ? Am I in 
my boat, or in my cottage ? ” A sudden terror 
took possession of him. With an effort he sat 
upright in his bed and cried aloud, “ Wake up ! 

81 


32 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 

wake up, for God’s sake, or we shall all be 
drowned ! ” 

“What is it, Anton?” cried the bewildered 
wife, as she was suddenly aroused out of sleep. 

“The water! the w T ater!” returned Anton. 
“The Rhine has overflowed! Hear you not 
how it pours through every crevice of our cot- 
tage ? Surely I had a presentiment of this > and 
for this emergency, by God’s good guidance, I 
brought my boat from the shore. Be tranquil, 
my dear wife ; the danger is not so imminent but 
that we will be able to escape with but very 
little trouble. Throw some clothing around the 
children. I will see, in the mean time, how it 
looks without.” Anton sprang hastily from his 
bed into the midst of the room. “ Alas ! ” cried 
he, “ it is worse than I thought ! The water is 
already more than ankle deep. It must have 
stormed fearfully up the Rhine, to have caused 
such a rise during the night ; but I have the 
tinder, and we shall soon see.” The match w'as 
applied, and soon a blue flame lighted the little 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 33 

room, and in a moment the lamp was burning. 
They soon saw that the floor was covered a foot 
deep with water, and that it was streaming in 
rapidly through the crevices of the door. 

“We are lost! we are lost!” cried the af- 
frighted mother. “ Life — home ! all, all will the 
flood carry away ! ” 

Anton was also alarmed, but through a vig- 
orous exertion regained his self-control. “ Be 
calm, dear wife,” he said ; “ our boat is moored 
beside the door, and the oars are in it. The 
water rises rapidly, but time enough remains at 
least to save our lives. Dress the children, and 
I will secure the boat.” 

A complaining bellow, at that moment, as if 
imploring help, came from out the stall. 

“Ah! Anton, our poor cow and goats!” 
sighed Marie. 

“ If I cannot save the poor creatures, I will at 
least set them free,” said Anton, decidedly. They 
may save themselves ; but they shall not, with- 
out a struggle, miserably perish.” Quickly rais- 
C 


34 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 

ing a window, he sprang into the yard. Here 
the water reached to his waist. He waded 
through, and succeeded in reaching the stable. 
The bolt was hastily drawn, and the door thrown 
wide open. The poor creatures were soon freed, 
and, impelled by fright, fled through the garden 
and beyond, disappearing in the mist and dark- 
ness of the night. The chickens fluttered, cack- 
ling noisily, from tree to tree. Anton left them 
to their fate, and sorrowfully returned to the 
cottage. 

“Hasten, Marie,” said he ; “the water is rising 
rapidly. Not a moment is to be lost, if we 
would save our lives. Where is Louisa?” 

“I am here, father,” said the child, as she 
descended the steps which led to the lower floor. 
She was pale, but calm and self-possessed. Marie 
too had aroused herself from the stupor of her 
fright, and cast, with trembling hands, the cloth- 
ing around the loudly weeping children. Anton 
addressed them encouragingly, as he searched 
for his boat near the entrance of the house ; for 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 35 


upon that alone, with the help of God, rested 
their hopes of safety. The water rushed wildly 
toward him, so that he could scarcely keep his 
feet, but, putting forth his whole strength, he 
forced his way through. A cry of joy escaped 
his lips when he found the newly repaired boat 
upon the spot on which he had placed it the pre- 
ceding evening. The wildly raging flood sought 
to tear it away, but chain and stake held it firm. 
With strong arm he pushed the boat close by 
the door of the cottage, where he secured it by 
its chain to a post. 

“God be thanked, the means of our rescue 
has not been snatched from us,” said he, as he 
re-entered the room, in which the water, in the 
mean time, had risen until it now reached his 
knees. “ Hurry ! Marie. Let me take Willie : 
I will carry him to the boat ; then I will come 
back for Anna and you. Hasten ! every moment 
is precious ! ” As he spoke, a trunk of a tree or 
a beam, he knew not which, added force to his 
words, for, borne by the rushing waves, it thun- 


36 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

dered like a battering-ram against the walls of 
the little cottage, and shook it to its foundations. 
Marie and the children shrieked aloud with 
fright. Anton heeded not this new danger, but 
quickly seized his trembling boy and hastened 
with him to the boat, where he gently placed 
him, commanding him to remain quiet and com- 
posed. Again returning to the little cottage, he 
was met by Louise, with the little Anna in her 
arms. 

“ Brave girl ! ” cried Anton, taking the little 
one from her. “ Do you get in first, and I will 
hand you the child. Now for my dear wife, and 
then away, with God’s help, to the nearest hill.” 

When the room was again reached, he found 
Marie sobbing, as she busied herself in trying to 
save from the flood such of their goods as lay 
near at hand. A drawer of her clothes-press stood 
open, and with trembling hands she drew forth 
the linen and clothing ; but either her bewilder- 
ment was too great or her strength was inade- 
quate, for what she grasped fell again from her 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 37 

powerless hands, and floated about in wild con- 
fusion through the water. 

“ Let be, good wife, let be ! ” cried Anton ; “ we 
have no time to gather the clothing from chest 
or press ; besides, the boat dare not be overladen, 
if I am to carry her safely through these wildly 
storming waves.” 

“But if our cottage should be torn away,” 
cried Marie, wringing her hands in her grief — 
“ then is all, yes, all lost ! ” 

“ Labor and saving can gather together every 
thing again,” answered her husband, as he caught 
her up in his strong arms. “ The cottage may 
bid defiance to the storm, and remain firm : when 
the water subsides, it will be time enough to look 
after our trifling goods. But now, before all else, 
let us try to save our lives : follow me without 
further delay.” 

A second concussion from without struck the 
• cottage: this time it seemed truly to tremble. 
Marie no longer hesitated : aided by her hus- 
band, she left the ravaged room with tears more 


4 


38 ANTON, THE FISHER 31 AN 

bitter than those shed but a few short hours before, 
and followed him to the boat. Anton quickly 
lifted her in, sprang after her, and was in the 
act of unloosening the chain, when a loud cry of 
grief from his wife restrained him. “ What is 
it, Marie?” he exclaimed, in deadly fright ; “has 
any one fallen out of the boat ? ” 

“ No, oh, no ! ” she answered ; “ but my Bible ! 
my dear old Bible ! the last memento of my dear 
father, that he intrusted to me only a few 
moments before his death. Anton, if I lose my 
Bible, I will never be happy again ! ” 

“ Thou shalt have it, Marie ! ” said Anton, de- 
cidedly ; “the Holy Book, that has afforded us so 
many peaceful, blessed hours, it shall not be lost 
in the waves, if we are saved.” 

And before Marie’s cry of distress could with- 
hold him, he sprang again into the cottage, took 
the book from the shelf over the door, where it 
was always kept, and returned to his wife in 
triumph. 

“ There, thou hast thy treasure, dear Marie, 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 39 

and my thanks that thou didst remind me of it,” 
said he. “ I would never have forgiven myself 
if we had come away without our Bible. Now 
I am satisfied. God’s word is with us ; what harm 
can the fierce waves do us ? therefore ‘ will not 
we fear, though the waters thereof roar and be 
troubled : the Lord of hosts is with us ; the God 
of Jacob is our refuge/ ” 

Marie pressed closely to her bosom the Holy 
Book — then laid it in her lap : with her arms 
thrown around her children she cowered down 
with them in the boat. Anton now loosed the 
chain, and seized the oars : scarcely was the work 
accomplished, when the frail vessel was swept by 
the wild, raging waters, into the whirlpool with 
such violence, that the skilled, strong hand of 
the fisher could scarcely keep her head to the 
waves. Gradually, to their great joy, the morn- 
ing dawned. It was comparatively easy, in the 
increasing light, to avoid those obstacles which 
threatened destruction to their light craft. Many 
a beam and timber they encountered, but soon 


40 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 


they reached the open stream, on which the 
worst they had to dread was the capsizing of their 
little boat by hidden rocks or sunken trees. 

“ Can I not help you, father ? ” asked Louisa, 
as Anton pushed bravely on, stemming the 
plunging, roaring waters. “ I should like to 
do something to help you.” 

“ Y ou may, my child, you may,” returned her 
foster-father ; “ lay hold of the rudder, and press 
it hard to the right, until the bow of the boat 
points toward that projection, which this moment 
the dawn enables us to see : if we reach it we are 
saved ; and with God’s help we will reach it.” 

Louisa at once obeyed these instructions, and 
turned the rudder as directed. Anton worked 
with redoubled zeal, and, after a laborious half- 
hour, the boat grounded upon the longed-for 
point. Many others had already taken refuge 
upon this place of security, and eager arms were 
outstretched to seize the chain which Anton 
threw toward them, lest the boat be torn away 
by the dashing, boisterous waves, while he 


ANTON, TEE FISHERMAN 41 

brought his precious load in safety to shore. 
When all were safe, the boat was drawn up on 
land: then Anton shook gratefully the hands of 
his kind neighbors, who were mostly vine-dressers 
from out the cottages near the village. 

“ But., friends, why did you not take refuge in 
the castle, that was much nearer to you than 
this hill?” 

“ It was too late, Anton,” answered Martin, an 
old farmer ; “ the flood came with such violence, 
that the whole village was inundated before we 
wakened out of sleep. The moat between the 
village and the castle was full of water; so 
nothing remained for us but to take refuge here. 
Our boats, fortunately, were at hand, and the 
torrent drove us hither, without any exertion on 
our part. Our lives are saved ; but what has 
become of our homes, and our poor animals, we 
know not.” 

“ Hope for the best, neighbors,” said Anton. 
“The poor creatures have instinct, and will 
struggle for their lives, even as we have done. 

4* 


42 ANTON, TIIE FISHERMAN. 

They have certainly been washed somewhere 
upon land, and, when the water subsides, will 
return again to their homes. You were better 
off in the village than I in my little cottage, 
which lies so near the river. I hardly expect, 
to-morrow, to find one stone or beam upon an- 
other. But let us not dwell upon this. The 
everlasting God is still ours. He is our refuge 
and strength, a very present help in trouble.” 

" Truly, Anton, we all hope, with all our 
hearts, it may be so for thee,” said Martin, press- 
ing warmly the hand of his friend. “ A nobler 
man than thou art cannot be found in all the 
country round. But hark ! what is that ? Surely 
it is the alarm-bell in our village ! It may be 
some unfortunate has remained, whose life is now 
in danger.” 

All listened breathlessly for a moment. They 
hoped old Martin might have been mistaken; 
but they were soon convinced it was surely the 
village bell, whose hasty, repeated strokes rever- 
berated over the sounding waters. 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 43 

A cry of pity broke from them all. “ Who 
can the unhappy one be ? If help is not afforded 
at once, he is lost! Who is it? Who can it be?” 
cried twenty voices together. “ Speak ! Jacob.” 

Jacob was the host of the little inn of the vil- 
lage. “ Late yesterday evening,” said he, “ past 
ten o’clock, there came a stranger to my inn, 
who desired a night’s lodging. I quartered him 
in my attic room, because I had no other place 
to offer; and in the haste of the flight no one 
remembered the stranger, who apparently is only 
now conscious of his danger, and has fled to the 
tower, in order to make known his peril by the 
alarm-bell, and now calls for help. But who 
can help him in this flood ? Who dare venture 
to battle with this wild torrent ? ” 

“ Let us wait until it is lighter ; we can then 
tell whether your belief is well grounded,” said 
Martin. “ The sound of the bell from the castle 
of the baron can be heard down here.” 

“That cannot be. The baron is safe, even 
though the water would rise a hundred yards.” 


44 ANTON \ THE FISHERMAN. 

“ But could he not ring the bell as a signal 
that they are threatened with danger? The 
sound of the alarm-bell reaches far.” 

“It is not improbable that the baron should 
give such a signal,” said Anton ; “ but I do not 
think it is so ; and the tone of that bell sounds 
to me like the bell from our village.” 

“ To me also ! to me also ! ” cried other voices. 
“ It is our bell ; and, if Jacob is not mistaken, 
the stranger must be imploring help. The old 
church-tower stands upon a weak foundation, 
and if the water rages around it, it may, at any 
moment, be overthrown.” 

“Yes, yes! the effort must be made to save 
the man,” said old Martin ; “but wait awhile — 
the sun will soon rise, and then we can see more 
plainly how to proceed. It is certainly some- 
thing unusual for the bell to sound so continu- 
ously.” 

All were silent, and listened again. At that 
very moment the signal was repeated, and the 
plaintive, imploring tones, as they wailed over 


ANTON , TIIE FISHERMAN. 45 

the rushing, roaring water, made every heart 
shudder. 

At length it was day. The first golden beams 
of the sun quivered over the wide waste of 
waters, and glittered clear upon the gilded spire 
of the village tower. As far as the sight could 
reach, the whole level plain, on both sides of the 
river, was covered with troubled, muddy waves, 
which wildly foamed along, amid trees, houses, 
and villages. Only some high points projected 
from the flood — the castle of the baron, and 
the church-tower, which last even now stood 
halfway in the water which surrounded it. The 
tops of the roofs of the more lowly houses could 
scarcely be seen above the swelling waves. 

“ It is extraordinary how such an inundation 
could have occurred,” said old Martin. “ There 
may have been violent showers of rain farther 
up the Rhine ; but a flood so wild as this has 
never been known in this place within the mem- 
ory of man.” 

“Look there!” interrupted Anton, pointing 


46 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

up the stream. “ Do you not see — there, where 
the river foams like a cataract ? The dam has 
broken at that place, and has brought upon us 
all this trouble.” 

All eyes were turned toward the designated 
spot. Anton had seen aright. About a mile' 
from the hill on which they stood was distinctly 
visible a broad breach in the dyke, and the 
cause of the sudden, mighty inundation was at 
once made plain to all. 

“ It must have been a faulty place,” said old 
Martin. “ It is bad enough that we have been 
surprised ; but we may hope, as the waters have 
come so inconceivably quick, that they will also 
as quickly subside. But what has happened to 
the stranger ? I no longer hear the bell ! ” 

The attention of all, which for some moments 
had been diverted, turned again toward the 
tower. 

“ I see something white waving from out the 
tower window ! ” cried several voices. 

“There is no longer any doubt: there is a 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 47 

man in the tower,” said Martin. “ He rang the 
bell while it was dark, as a signal, and now that 
it is light, he waves his handkerchief. He must 
be helped, and that right quickly. The poor 
fellow is in great danger, and the risk in- 
creases every moment. Before we can plan his 
escape, the tower may be swept away by the 
thundering waves; and then God be merciful 
to the doomed one. Up, men ! Here are boats 
in plenty! Jump in, and forward, in God’s 
name ! ” 

Deep silence followed the call of the old man. 
With sullen, undecided countenances, the men 
gazed upon the foaming, whirling flood, which 
bore .away upon its angry surface uprooted trees, 
old timbers, and many a household treasure — 
measuring, as they looked, the distance from 
their safe refuge to the church-tower, from 
which the signal fluttered. 

“ It is impossible,” a timid voice now answered, 
after a long pause. “ Only look, father Martin, 
we must steer against the current, and the waves 


48 ANTON, TIIE FISHERMAN. 

rush so rapidly toward us that breath and 
strength would soon be lost.” 

“ And the timbers and rafters,” said another. 
“ A collision with one of these would crush our 
boats to atoms : it is not possible. Shall we place 
our own lives in jeopardy to save the life of one 
whom none of us knows — who does not even 
belong to our village? I, for one, will not do 
it : I will not.” 

“ Neither will I ! ” “Nor I ! ” muttered several 
others, “ to save a stranger, lose our own lives : 
no ! no ! ” 

“ Then, too,” said one, in the midst of the group, 
“ the tower still stands, and who knows that it 
will not stand until the water subsides? The 
flood cannot last long, as you yourself have 
said, father Martin ! ” 

“ But the mortal terror of the wretched man : 
do you count that as nothing ? Shame upon you 
to delay, when, it might be, you could rescue a 
fellow-man. I tell you again, the foundation of 
our tower is weak ; .you all know that even during 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 49 


this year it has given way ; and no one can 
doubt but that it will fall before two hours 
elapse, if the water rages around it that long; 
and none of you think the water will subside in 
that length of time. Before evening, it will 
scarcely lower enough to admit of crossing 
without swimming.” 

“ True, Martin ; but look at the timbers — the 
trunks of trees — the depth you cannot reckon ; 
and then ask yourself if it is possible to get there 
alive ! Not one of us will even dare to make the 
attempt.” 

“ I will dare it,” now said fisher Anton, who 
had hitherto been silent, but with watchful eye 
had -noted every eddy and current. “See there, 
men ! We must drive down stream a short dis- 
tance, until we reach that point, where the river 
makes a sharp bend ; thence we will cut across the 
stream, and reach yon channel, which lies smooth 
as a mirror, between the foaming currents on each 
side. Then, putting forth all our strength, we 
will row up stream, until we can alter our course, 
5 D 


50 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 

and, without much more trouble, we can gain the 
tower, take the stranger on board, and our return 
will be an easy matter, for we will drive with the 
stream, and, by the clear light of day, every ob- 
stacle will easily be avoided. Courage, friends ! 
give me one pair of strong arms, beside my own, 
and I will dare it.” 

“ Bravo ! ” said Martin ; “ not a braver heart 
beats than thine : I repeat it ; and thou art right : 
in this way it is possible to struggle against 
stream, and reach the tower: nothing is needed 
but a steady hand and a sure eye. Now, then, 
men ! which among you shall it be to go with 
our brave Anton to the rescue?” 

The men were still silent. “AVe have lost 
enough already,” muttered at last a growling 
voice. “ Who will assure us that our lives will 
not be lost in this venture ? I will not go.” 

“Nor will I, not for the whole world,” said 
another, as they stubbornly turned away, with 
angry, lowering looks, and not a word more would 
they utter. 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 51 

“Well then, in God’s name, I will try it 
alone ! ” said Anton. “ It grieves me deeply to 
see how desperately the poor man implores our 
aid. And he shall at least have the comfort of 
knowing that some one attempted his rescue ! 
If no one will accompany me, I go alone ! ” 

“ Ah, Anton ! think of thy children,” sobbed 
Marie, with anguish, as she clung to her husband. 
“ If thou shouldst drown, Anton, they will be 
fatherless.” 

“ They will have a Father in heaven ! ” whis- 
pered Anton, softly. “ Weep not, dear wife ! let 
me go ! it will infuse strength into these arms 
if you consent to this good work ! Reflect, Marie, 
that poor, forsaken man may, too, be a father, 
whose death would cause his children to weep 
hot, bitter tears. Suppose I stood there, my 
wife, and prayed in my anguish for succor, and 
implored help with the tones of that bell, and 
no one, no one listened to me, or had pity upon 
me — how then, Marie ? how then ? No, let 
me go, dear wife ! My heart will not passively 


52 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 


suffer me to consent to a death which I may 
prevent/’ 

“Go!” said Marie, and a noble expression 
animated her countenance; “go, and the Almighty 
God go with thee ! Has He not said, ‘ When thou 
passest through the waters, I will be with thee ; 
and through the rivers, they shall not overflow 
thee.’” 

Tenderly Anton pressed his brave wife to his 
breast, hastened resolutely to his boat, and by a 
single effort of his stalwart arm launched it upon 
the stream. 

“ Will no one,” he cried, at the last moment, 
“ will no one help me ? ” 

Not a word of reply : the old man shook his 
gray head sorrowfully. “ If I would not be more 
a burden than a help to you,” said he with grief, 

“ I would not see you go alone. But this arm is 
weak : it can no longer wield the oar or steer the 
boat.” 

“ But mine can : I have proved it, father ! ” cried 
a clear, soft, childish voice,” and Louisa, the fos- 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 53 


ter-daughter of Anton, rushed forward, and, with 
cheeks glowing with enthusiasm, leaped into the 
boat, and took her place at the helm. “Kow, 
father, row,” she said ; “ we two are enough to 
force this light boat through the rapids.” 

“ Well then, ‘ God with us ! ’ ” said Anton, after 
he had waited a short time, to see if shame would 
not drive one or the other of the men to take 
Louisa’s place. A vain hope ! 

“On, then, my brave girl! we will venture, 
and rely upon the protection of Heaven. Fare- 
well, Marie ! farewell, my children ! Soon, I hope, 
you will see us return in safety. Another effort, 
and the boat was fairly started. 

Anton sprang in, and seized the oar: quickly 
the little craft was driven by the torrent down 
stream. 

With mingled emotions the bystanders gazed 
after the boat. In many a heart shame was busy, 
but all joined heartily in the wish that the noble 
deed of the brave fisher should be crowned with 
success. Marie, white and trembling, sank upon 


54 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 

her knees, beseeching God for the safety of her 
husband : her children, kneeling at her side, prayed 
with her. Old Martin, deeply moved, laid his 
hands in blessing upon the bowed heads of the 
little ones. 

“ Be comforted,”, said he ; “ God is with your 
father ; his Almighty power w r ill make a path for 
him, and the waves will be powerless to de- 
stroy.” 

Truly, it seemed as though all the wishes and 
prayers for the success of Anton had prevailed, 
for quickly and securely the light boat flew over 
the foaming billows to the spot where he must 
make the expected turn, in order to gain the quiet 
water. 

“ This is the place, Louisa,” said he : “ quick ! 
round the helm ! so ! And now — Heaven is with 
us!” 

The boat had turned, and was in the midst of 
the weakest current : however it was always strong 
enough to make it necessary for Anton to exert 
himself to the utmost, and in a few moments the 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 55 

clear drops of sweat rolled down his forehead. 
Louisa saw them, and made a quick resolve. 

Unloosening her apron, she with it lashed the 
rudder fast, so that it could not move out of its 
place. 

“ What are you doing, my child ? ” asked Anton ; 
“ why lash the rudder ? ” 

“ So that I can have my arms free to help thee, 
father ! ” answered Louisa. “ We must now tend, 
by degrees, a long distance up stream ; and it is 
better that I take the oar, and let the helm be 
as it is: when we have to turn, I can unbind 
it in a moment ! ” 

With these words, she took the oar, and dipped 
it in the water. She was not unaccustomed to 
manage a boat : frequently had she used the oar, 
sometimes for pleasure, and sometimes to assist 
her foster-father in his business as a fisher : her 
help at this moment was most opportune ; 
the boat glided quickly through the current, 
and Anton needed no longer to labor to exhaus- 
tion. 


56 ANTON, THE FISHER 31 A N. 

“We will succeed! we will surely succeed, my 
girl/’ said he ; “ in a little while, only one short 
quarter of an hour, and we will reach the point, 
where we will turn, and again drive with the cur- 
rent ; then will we be opposite the tower, where 
the foam rears itself like a crest ; then the worst 
difficulties will have been overcome. Only a 
quarter of an hour, my child ! ” 

“ I can hold out, father,” answered the maiden, 
courageously, and with flashing eye ; “ I am not 
at all tired, and the nearer we approach our 
goal the more spiritedly I can work.” On and 
still on she guided the little craft, avoiding with 
consummate skill the numerous obstacles they 
encountered, and animated with fresh courage 
when the path lay free before her. At length 
the point was reached where they could again 
turn, and drive with the current. They both 
breathed more freely — the severest labor was 
over — all that remained to be done w T as to them 
but child’s play. 

A moment more and the tower was gained, 


I 


\ 














I 


•• 





































































































ft 



















ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 


57 


and the boat moored close by one of the windows 
of the old tower. 

The stranger, a stately man, with a dark 
bronzed countenance, large earnest black eyes, 
heavy beard, and of distinguished bearing, stood 
in the arched window, and stretched both arms 
toward his rescuers. 

“ Thank you, thank you, my brave man, my 
noble maiden ! ” called he in a deep rich voice, 
but with a slightly foreign accent. “ You have 
come most opportunely, for the tower sways 
even now under my feet, and threatens every 
moment to fall, and bury me in its ruins.” 

“ Truly, truly, here it stands no longer firm,” 
answered Anton; “and therefore delay not, but 
jump quickly into the boat, so that we can at 
once leave this dangerous neighborhood. Take 
my hand, now — sure and steady; soon will we 
find ourselves safe on shore.” 

The stranger leaped into the boat, and sat 
down, as he took the oar out of Louisa’s hand. 

“You have done enough for me, dear child,” 


58 ANTON , , THE FISHERMAN. 

said he ; “ now suffer me to do some little toward 
my own rescue. I know how to use an oar, and 
if I only could have had a boat, I would not 
have been in the perilous situation from which 
you have so nobly delivered me. ” The boat, with 
a new impulse, darted into the midst of the wild 
waters. 

The light boat flew along, and soon again 
reached the point where many anxious hearts 
awaited their return, with faint hope and ardent 
longing. 

Anton sprang upon shore, and pressed his 
wife and children to his bosom, who wept for 
joy, amidst the loud congratulations of those 
surrounding them. Louisa especially was the 
object of their commendation and praise. The 
stranger, standing close by, gazed w T ith emotion 
upon the young girl, without whose resolute 
courage his rescue w T ould have been almost im- 
possible. 

“Wonderful, this resemblance!” murmured 
he to himself. “ So must she have looked in her 


ANTON , ; THE FISHERMAN 59 

youth. — What is your name, my child?” he 
said, suddenly turning to Louisa, who blushingly 
listened to the praises of old Martin and the rest 
of the villagers. 

“ Louisa,” she answered ; “ and this is my good 
father, Anton, the fisher. 

The stranger softly sighed, and drew his hand 
over his brow, as if he could by so doing wipe 
away some painful reminiscences. 

“I will remember thee, dear maiden, thee 
and thy father: now I can do no more than 
offer thee my hearty thanks for thy timely 
succor.” 

“And that is needless, dear sir,” said the fish- 
erman, who had heard the words of the stranger. 
“ What we did was our duty, and the satisfaction 
of your rescue is reward enough for that short 
exertion. But see! truly we were barely in 
, time ; the old tower sways more and more : 
there! it has gone! the water has spared the 
mason the trouble of carrying it away.” 

At that moment, as all gazed intently, the 


60 - ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

spire bowed itself, and suddenly the whole old, 
decayed structure fell a mass of ruins, and dis- 
appeared beneath the foaming waves. 

For some moments deep silence reigned over 
the group ; then suddenly there resounded a loud 
cheer for Anton, and ten or twelve rough hands 
were outstretched to grasp his. The noble deed 
increased in value when it became apparent how 
pressing the necessity had been. The stranger, 
when the agitation was somewhat allayed, drew 
Anton’s arm within his own, and led him a little 
to one side. 

“My friend,” said he, “you have now been 
convinced that I have you and your noble daugh- 
ter to thank for my life. Without your imme- 
diate, manful help, I would now be lying under 
those ruins, in a watery grave, and death would 
never have been to me more unwelcome than 
just now, when — ” The stranger checked him- 
self, muttering, “But it is not yet time!” and 
then resumed, “I pray you, friend, answer me 
honestly one question — will you ? ” 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 61 


“ Right willingly, dear sir, if it will give you 
any pleasure,” answered the fisherman, smil- 
ingly. 

“ Well, then, you have a wife and children. 
Are your circumstances such that it is easy for 
you to maintain them ? ” 

Anton bowed his head, and a dark shadow 
clouded his brow. “ Yes, it was easy,” said he, 
in a suppressed voice. “ I had a cottage, garden, 
field, and cattle ; but this wild flood has carried 
all away. I knoiv not if even the walls of my 
house still stand. I know not if my small piece 
of ground is not so laid waste that years may 
pass before it again bear fruit. Nevertheless,” 
added he, confidently, “ the Everlasting God is 
the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. He has 
helped us in the past, and he will help us in the 
days to come. ‘ Why art thou cast down, O my 
soul, and why art thou disquieted within me ? * 
Yes, I will hope in God ; I will praise him for the 
help of his countenance. These arms have not 
lost their strength; they must labor, so that 


6 


62 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 

my dear ones shall not want their daily bread. 
Then there is still my boat. The nets have been 
washed away, but a little patience will soon 
remedy that. Yes, yes, dear sir, he who works, 
trusting in the Lord, will always find enough to 
maintain him.” 

“ Spoken like a noble, upright man ! ” said the 
stranger, as he pressed Anton’s hand. “ We will 
speak of this again. For the present, I have 
saved no more than you out of the flood — 
merely my life. If I come into possession again 
of my portmanteau, which is buckled behind 
my saddle — but we must wait. In the mean 
time, I cannot remain here until the waters sub- 
side, for urgent business obliges me to proceed. 
I will see you again, my friend. But no.w tell 
me your name. They call you here the fisher 
Anton ; but that cannot be your whole name.” 

“ No ; it is because there is more than one 
Anton in the village, that they call me after my 
occupation. My proper name is Anton Stein- 
bach.” 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 63 

“Thank you for the information,” said the 
stranger, at the same time writing upon his tab- 
lets, which he drew out of the breast-p.ocket of 
his coat. “ And what will you do, if your worst 
conjectures are realized, and you find your farm 
desolated ? ” 

“ I cannot now say with certainty,” answered 
Anton : “ it will depend upon circumstances. I 
may have to carry on some other. branch of in- 
dustry : in that case I may be obliged to go far 
from our village.” 

“ Remain in this place, and I will know where 
to find you again when the right time comes. 
For the present, farewell. Heaven protect thee 
and thine, my brave deliverer ! Share with me 
the little I have in my purse. There are two 
gold-pieces — one for thee, and one for me. 
No refusal, man ! I cannot do more at this 
time. Bonn lies not far from here, and there 
sufficient resources await me. But necessarily 
some time must elapse while you seek and obtain 
work : you may need a little money. No denial ! 


64 ANTON, THE FI SUER MA N. 

take it ! I will now speak a few words with my 
host, whom I see among these men.” 

Forcing the gold-piece into Anton’s hand, he 
left him suddenly. For a few moments he spoke 
in an undertone to the host, courteously greeted 
once more his rescuers, and with hasty steps 
soon disappeared. Anton followed him with his 
eye until the nearest hill concealed him from his 
gaze. 

“I should also have asked him his name,” 
murmured he to himself. 

“ Certainly, Anton ; certainly, that you should 
have done!” returned his wife. “I did not 
think but that you had, or I would certainly 
have done it.” 

“Why would you, Marie?” asked Anton, no 
little astonished at the apparent agitation of his 
wife. “What more have we to do with the 
stranger? I brought him here from the tower, 
and he paid me a good fare — a bright gold- 
piece. See here, Marie! He and I are now 
square.” 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 65 

“ But I am much disappointed that you did 
not ask his name and country,” returned his 
wife. “ I cannot tell what there was about the 
stranger, but I could not remove my eyes from 
him ; and the longer I gazed, the deeper grew 
the impression that I had seen him a long time 
ago.” 

“That certainly is not improbable, Marie, 
and not in the least remarkable,” said Anton. 
“ Many strangers visit the Rhine every summer, 
and among many others it is not impossible that 
you have seen him.” 

“ That is not it ; no, no ! ” answered Marie, 
musingly; “it lies deeper. Even the tones of 
his voice were familiar. I must have seen him 
under circumstances that were of more moment 
than a fleeting meeting.” 

“ Perhaps some resemblance has struck you,” 
said her husband, lightly : “ that often occurs. 
For my part, I am convinced he is unknown to 
me. I certainly would have recognized him, if 

I had ever seen him before. No, no, Marie ; 

6* E 


66 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

that is foolish and visionary. If you so much 
desire to know his name, we will ask the host : 
he knows it, perhaps, as he lodged with him yes- 
terday/’ 

“Yes; that is possible,” cried Marie, with 
deep earnestness. “ Ask him, Anton.” 

The question was asked, but the host had no 
information to give. 

“The gentleman came late last night,” said 
he. “Who would at such an hour ask for a 
name ? I was not at all uneasy about him, for 
he rode a most beautiful horse, with a full round 
portmanteau buckled on behind. The horse was 
hardly in the stable until the stranger sought 
repose, neither of us dreaming we would be so 
suddenly aroused from sleep.” 

“ But he spoke with you,” said Anton. “ Did 
you discover nothing, Herr Wirth ? ” 

“Nothing whatever about himself; he only 
charged me to take care of his portmanteau, 
if it be found. The clothing, methinks, will be 
well soaked. Now on the other hand, Anton : 


ANTON , ; THE FISHERMAN 67 

he asked after you, and your means of subsist- 
ence. I gave him a fair account, you may be- 
lieve me.” 

“I do not doubt it. Did he say nothing more 
about where he has now gone ? ” 

“ Yes ; he asked how far it was to Emmenbach 
and Bonn — which latter place he wished to reach 
before night — and I gave him the desired infor- 
mation.” 

“ What does he intend to do in Emmenbach, 
Herr Wirth?” questioned Marie, hastily. “Did 
he not mention that ? ” 

“Not a word. The way to Bonn lies through 
that place, and perhaps he wishes to hire a con- 
veyance there, so that he will not have so far to 
walk. The gentleman has something distin- 
guished about him, and does not look to me as 
if he were very much accustomed to travelling 
about on foot.” 

“Yes, that can easily be seen,” said Marie, 
with the keenest disappointment; “but I wish 
I had learned who he is — his name, whence 


68 ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN 

he comes — and what he intends doing in Em- 
menbach.” 

“ I never gave you credit for so much curiosity 
before, good frau,” said the host, smiling. “ It 
may be still possible that you learn all you desire; 
the gentleman told me he designed to return as 
soon as his business permitted, and I feel sure he 
will, if it is only to look after his portmanteau. 
But that is not all, I think, that will bring him 
back : a word escaped him of — ” 

“ Of what, Herr Wirth ? do tell me,” begged 
Marie. 

“Well, if you do not speak of it again, little 
woman,” whispered the host, softly. “ He asked 
me about the castle of our baron of Windheim, 
if it were true that he had resolved to sell his 
estate. You know, perhaps, that it has this 
long time been whispered about, and there may 
be some truth in it. I told the stranger so — for 
all is not right in the castle, above there. The 
old lord has wasted a great deal of money, and 
the young knight, I fear, much more. Gold and 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 69 


silver must sometimes be very scarce in the chest 
of his grace. But why let that trouble us? we 
surely have enough cares of our own. God only 
grant that no greater damage has been done by 
the inundation than we now fear.” 

“And you really think that the stranger 
wishes to purchase the baron’s estate?” asked 
Marie. 

“ It might be ; yes — it might be; and it might 
not,” answered the host, shrugging his shoulders. 
“He .confided nothing further to me; we can 
only conjecture. Why did he come to our vil- 
lage? and why did he inquire so particularly 
about the castle ? I much more believe he will 
purchase than that he will not.” 

“ Then I must certainly have been mistaken,” 
said Marie to herself ; “ so rich a man as that 
cafcnot be a friend or relative of mine. It has 
all passed, Anton; ask no further: I now see it 
was all a delusion. Let us look after the children, 
and decide what we will do : we cannot remain 
here until the water subsides, and we must seek 


70 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 

quarters for the coming night, on account of the 
little ones.” 

“Yes, I have thought of that,” answered 
Anton. “You know, Marie, our old Aunt Dor- 
othy, who lives on the other side of the castle : 
she would take us into her little cottage for a 
night or two, and by that time we can determine 
what to do, and may find another shelter. Come, 
good wife, there is nothing to be done here. I 
will secure the boat, so that it will not be carried 
away by the flood.” 

“ Go, Anton ! ” cried several voices ; “ we will 
see that your boat is safe ; go and find a shelter 
for your children.” 

Anton gratefully accepted their kind offer. 
Taking his youngest child in his arms, and fol- 
lowed by Marie and the two children, carrying 
the Bible and the few effects they had saved fr#m 
the fltfod, he bent his steps toward the cottage of 
his old aunt ; which, although it lay but a short 
distance beyond the castle, was safe from the 
ravages of the inundation. 


ANTON ,, ; THE FISHERMAN. 71 

The place of refuge was soon reached, and 
heartily were the poor fugitives welcomed. 

The good old aunt opened to them her door 
and heart, inviting them to remain under her 
humble roof until they could again return to 
their cottage, or till another suitable shelter 
could be provided. 

“ God has, of his mercy, raised us up a friend 
for our time of need,” said Marie, encouragingly, 
to her dear ones. “We will always meet with 
the good and kind. We must not despond, if 
the storm of adversity beat upon us a little too 
roughly. God will help those who put their 
trust in him.” 

They were soon established in the little room 
— small enough at any time; but a place was 
found for each, Anton preparing for the night 
by spreading upon the floor a soft bed of fra- 
grant hay, upon which they laid them down and 
slept as sweetly as in their own little cottage 
upon the banks of the Khine. 



CHAPTER III. 

THE HUT IN THE FOREST. 

“ In God have I put my trust : I will not be afraid what 
man can do unto me.” 

full days passed before the flood 
1 so far subsided as to allow of An- 
l’s return to the cottage. On the 
morning of the third day, he determined upon 
the sorrowful undertaking. Marie would have 
accompanied him, but Anton forbade it, fearing 
her heart and courage would be too severely tried 
by witnessing the ruin and devastation he natu- 
rally apprehended after the events of the past 
two or three days. He acted wisely, for the 
sight that awaited him was not calculated to 
inspire hope or cheerfulness. . 

The walls of his old home, it is true, still 



72 


ANTON, THE FISH ERMAN. 73 

stood, but the water, pouring through the open 
doors and windows, had utterly destroyed every- 
thing that had not been washed away by the 
waves. A large rafter, which projected some 
two yards from the window, had crushed the 
press in which Marie kept her linen and cloth- 
ing, and of all its contents only a single piece 
lay floating around in the mud and water. The 
beds, chairs, tables Anton sought for in vain — 
even his nets, with other fishing implements, had 
disappeared, and lay either at the bottom of the 
river, or were carried far away by the waves. 
The floor of both room and chamber was covered 
inches deep with an adhesive mass of mire and 
sand. The mortar had fallen from the walls, 
leaving them in such a damaged condition that 
they were entirely beyond repair. It was plain 
that they would have to be torn down, and the 
little cottage rebuilt from its very foundation, 
if they would again dwell in this devastated 
spot. 

Sighing deeply, Anton turned to examine the 


74 ANTON, THE FISHER 31 AN. 

yard, stable, and fields, passing, as he did so, 
through the doorless room. A sorrowful sight 
here presented itself : the stable had vanished, 
and the garden and land looked so wasted, that 
for this year, and perhaps the next, a harvest 
could not he counted upon. The rich, fertile 
earth was washed away, and in its place lay 
sterile sand and gravel, like that within the cot- 
tage. Only the two fruit-trees were standing, 
their trunks visible, but entirely stripped of 
their branches. Anton sorrowfully shook his 
head : 

“ There is but little left, and that little almost 
worthless. But a few days since I was a fortu- 
nate man — to-day, bereft of all ; and the assist- 
ance of our neighbors not to be relied upon, for 
they are but little better off* than we ourselves,” 
For some time he remained standing, plunged 
in the sad reflections which the scene excited. 
“But lamenting will not help us,” said he, at 
length ; “ we must act. Happily, the dear Lord 
has not taken away my courage and health. 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 75 

We must only apply ourselves more zealously 
than ever, laboring somewhere, honestly, until 
all this damage -is repaired.” So, stooping down 
at once, he gathered together the trifling goods 
left to him by the inundation, made of them a 
bundle, and, placing it upon his shoulder, left 
his desolate cottage to return to his wife and 
children. 

“ Ah ! my husband, is that all that is left to 
us of our little home ? ” cried Marie, sadly, as 
Anton approached. 

“Almost all,” he returned, “excepting, per- 
haps, a few rafters, posts, and bars, that we will 
be- able to make some use of again. All else 
has been carried away by the flood.” 

“ Then, Anton, we have no time to lose. We 
must rouse ourselves, and at once decide what 
we can do to earn our daily bread. AYhat shall 
we do, Anton ? ” 

“ I must go away somewhere, and labor by the 
day,” said her husband. “I see nothing else 
for me to do.” And in few words he described, 


76 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

with an aching heart, the ravages he had wit- 
nessed in cottage, garden, and field. 

“ I had not pictured it to myself half so bad,” 
said poor Marie, wiping away the bitter tears 
which sprang, unbidden, to her eyes. “But, 
Anton, while you were away I have had a visit, 
from which I believe good results will follow.” 

“ Who was the visitor ? ” said Anton. 

“Frederick, the baron’s huntsman — my cousin, 
you know, upon my mother’s side.” 

“ Frederick ! What can he do for us, Marie ? 
He has not much; and only recently he was 
complaining that he could not even get what was 
due him. We cannot expect any help from him, 
however much he may wish to render it.” 

“ He can give nothing,” said Marie, “ but he 
will make thee a proposal. He will soon return, 
for he promised to do so. Only do thou listen 
to him, Anton.” 

It was not long before Frederick made his 
appearance — a slender young fellow, of a pleas- 
ant countenance, dressed in a neat huntsman’s 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 77 

uniform, with rifle, hunting-pouch, and knife. 
Reaching his hand to Anton, he said : “ The 
water has driven you from your home, cousin. 
I was truly grieved to hear of it, and would 
have called yesterday to express my sympathy, 
had I not been obliged to accompany the young 
knight to the forest. It happened very well, 
however, for I think through it something good 
may result to you.” 

“ What is it, cousin ? ” asked Anton. “ Marie 
has alluded to it, but I cannot imagine what you 
mean.” 

“ See,” said Frederick, ingenuously, “ your 
house and field is so laid waste that you can no 
longer dwell there ; I have seen it myself. Your 
fishing, necessarily, will have to he suspended for 
a good while ; and, indeed, it alone would not 
support your family: besides, all your fishing 
implements are lost — all but the boat, which 
will not be of much service without your tackle. 
Now listen to me patiently, cousin : within the 
forest lies a hut, in which, a long time ago, a 


78 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

herdsman dwelt. He was an old retainer of the 
father of our present lord, who ordered that he 
should live in it until his death. That is at least 
ten or twelve years ago : so you may know the 
hut is no longer in good repair ; for during all 
this time, no one has ever even driven into it a 
nail ; but, with all that, it is not in such a bad 
condition but that in a short time, with a little 
trouble, it could be rendered at least habitable.” 

“You mean well, Frederick,” said Anton; 
“ but have you thought, a shelter is not all that 
we need ? 

“Certainly,” returned the young huntsman. 
“ The old Balthazar had a piece of woodland 
around his hut, in good condition ; the trees were 
rooted out, and he used the spade so skilfully 
that he had enough fruit and vegetables to sup- 
ply all his wants. To be sure, since his death, 
the weeds have obtained the upper hand, and the 
undergrowth has again sprung up ; but if you 
attack them vigorously, you can soon clear a 
path, and the soil of the woods is so rich that it 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 79 

will bring you, certainly, three or four harvests 
without the expense of fertilizing it.” 

“ It is still somewhat early in the year,” said 
Anton, thoughtfully, after a short pause. “ If 
one would af>ply himself to it, it might be that, 
before winter, a harvest could be reaped ! You 
have a kind heart, Frederick ! Yes, I will take 
it at once ; that is, if the baron has no objection. 
You know he is not noted for his kindness to the 
poor. Have you spoken to him about it ? ” 

Frederick at this question exhibited some 
little embarrassment, as he cast his eyes to the 
ground. 

“ Yes, certainly,” he replied. “ And this is 
the only unpleasant part of the business. The 
baron has not the slightest objection that you 
take possession of the cottage, and cultivate the 
ground ; but he wishes you to understand that 
he gives away nothing ; and if he does anything 
for your advantage, he expects you to render ser- 
vice in turn.” 

“ Ah, ha ! I thought so,” said Anton. “ I know 


80 ANTON , , THE FISHERMAN. 

the young knight: he has not been friendly 
to me for some time — not since I refused to 
leave my fish at the castle without the pay. 
Well, I see that nothing will come of the wood- 
hut. But I thank you for your kindness, cou- 
sin. Yes, yes, your proposition seemed for a 
time to me to he very pleasant; but we cer- 
tainly have been reckoning without counting 
the cost.” 

“ Not so hasty, dear husband ! ” said Marie, 
gently. “ Will you not listen to what the baron 
requires of you ? ” 

“ Only that which I would not be willing to 
perform,” said Anton. “ I know the young 
knight. The hut is not worth anything to him ; 
but I must pay dear for it : I am to repair it, 
and cultivate the ground, and after that to be 
put out.” 

“Not so, Anton,” returned the huntsman. 
“ Listen to me, and after that you can do just as 
you please. The baron requires nothing of you 
but the tenth of your harvest, and that you 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 81 

occasionally render service at the chase during 
the winter.” 

“ The tenth, and, besides that, service ! ” said 
Anton, shaking his head. “ Either is too much, 
Frederick. The tenth I would be willing to 
give ; although it is hard — for I must, before I 
reap, prepare the ground ; but service — shall I 
voluntarily place myself in servitude? No, 
Frederick, that is much, too much to require ! 
Father would I work by the day and eat dry 
— bread, and remain a free man.” 

The young huntsman shrugged his shoulders, 
saying, “ I have nothing more to say ; you are not 
obliged to accept his offer; but I do think it 
would be to your advantage to try him : it will 
not last forever ; and when you see the progress 
of your work, day by day, even if they exact too 
much of you — I would still advise you — I re- 
peat it, to accept the offer, Anton. You can 
always get work, even if the contract with the 
baron does not last. What does it matter if some 
trifling service be required ? There are not more 
F 


» 


82 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

than three or four hunts during the winter; 
and in case of necessity, I can render you the 
help required, or get some one to take your 
place. I would venture, Anton ! ” 

“Yes, yes, husband, Frederick reasons well, and 
advisedly,” said Marie, as the fisherman shook 
his head doubtfully. “ Think Anton, aunt has 
given us a shelter for a few days, out of charity 
and love for us, her relatives, but she cannot 
always keep us in her little cottage, where there 
is hardly room enough for one. Let us go, dear 
Anton, to the wood-hut : Louisa and I will help 
you make, and cut, and dig, until everything is 
in order ; then, while the seed lies in the earth, 
you can go out to labor by the day, or still carry 
on your old business during the winter : the dear 
God has always helped us, and would now help 
us through, cousin Frederick. Only take the cot- 
tage, Anton, and all else can then be decided upon. 
Knowest thou,” she whispered softly, bending 
down toward her husband, “ in the worst case, if 
the baron treats thee ill, or is unreasonable, we 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 83 

will remind him of the five hundred gulden 
which he borrowed from father, and threaten 
him with a complaint before the justice: that 
was not done before, when he denied the debt. 
Then he will be likely to withdraw any unreason- 
able demand, and will not be too hard upon thee. 
No, dear husband, do not refuse the offer, but 
take the hut without any further hesitation : do 
not vex our cousin so much, by not availing 
yourself of his kindness.” 

Notwithstanding all this persuasion, Anton was 
still undecided. “You know not what I know,” 
said he ; “ I have always kept silence, so as to 
spare you unnecessary pain and anxiety : the 
young knight does not like me, and would have 
made me suffer before this, if I had only been in 
his power. So long as I sat in my own house, he 
could do me no harm, and I cared but little for 
his ill-will ; but circumstances would be wholly 
changed if I took his wood-hut on lease: from 
the very outset he has shown his bitter feeling 
toward me, by requiring not only the tenth of the 


84 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 

harvest, but also service. At my first misstep, 
he will surely, surely lay his hand heavily upon 
my shoulder, and press me down into the dust, if 
he dare.” 

“ But he dare not,” answered Marie quickly. 
“ What can he do to thee ? Frederick is right 
when he says you can at any hour leave the hut, 
if you do not choose to remain. And what has 
happened with the young baron? perhaps it is 
not so bad as you imagine, Anton.” 

“Bad enough, at all events, if I am in his 
power,” answered Anton. “ It was last autumn : 
they had taken fish of me at the castle, the whole 
of the previous summer, but never thought of 
paying me, so that at last I concluded it was 
time to remind them of it, and went myself up 
to the castle, with my basket. In the court-yard 
I met the young knight, who ordered me to come 
near, and let him see what I had brought. It 
was a salmon-trout, of over ten pounds’ weight — 
one of the most beautiful I had ever caught in 
my net. His grace would at once have taken pos- 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 85 

session of it, telling me to carry it to the kitchen ; 
but I said, ‘Do not, I pray you, take it amiss, sir 
knight : right willingly will I give you the trout ; 
but might I ask you to mention to the steward 
that I have not yet been paid for the fish I 
brought since last spring.’ I spoke respectfully, 
and modestly, but the young lord abused me 
fiercely, wrath flaming in his face. 

“ ‘Shameless fellow ! ’ he shouted, cracking his 
riding-whip about my face, ‘ into the kitchen with 
you, and do not dare to come before me so boldly 
again : if the steward owes you, he will pay you 
when your turn comes.’ 

“ ‘ It has been a long time now, my lord,’ I 
answered, ‘ and I am only a poor fisherman, and 
have children, who need their daily bread. I 
must again pray you not to send me away with- 
out some money, for I need it sorely.’ 

“The young baron cast upon me a scowling 
look, and threatened me in these words: ‘AVe 
will see how it will be! ’ I thought that was my 
answer, and took up my basket to go — of course 


86 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 

not into the kitchen — what should I do there ? 
Money I was sure not to get — of that I was fully 
persuaded. To give up the beautiful trout, for 
which any host in Bonn would willingly have 
given me three or four gulden — that I would not 
do. Past the kitchen, and almost through the 
gateway, had I gone, when the young knight 
passionately asked where I was going, and if I 
did not know where the kitchen was. 

“‘Yes,’ I returned, ‘but I have nothing to do 
there, Herr Baron.’ 

“ ‘ The trout must be left,’ shouted he ; ‘ I have 
bought it.’ 

“‘Yes, my lord, but you have not paid for 
it, nor for the fish of the past summer, and I 
need the money. I pray you, do not take offence, 
but the trout I must carry to Bonn ! ’ 

“ Then he was full of wrath, ordered me fiercely 
to go in, saying the trout was his, that I- had 
offered it to him, and that he had accepted it — 
that I dare not sell it to any one else — if I had 
forgotten before whom I stood, with many other 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 87 

such expressions. But as I remained calm, and 
not in the least intimidated, still pursuing my 
way, he called after me : ‘ Beware ! you will one 
day repent of your audacity ; that salmon-trout 
shall be a bitter morsel for you, for the rest of 
your life/ What he still further shouted I know 
not, for I hurried away, glad enough when I 
reached the foot of the crag, and heard him no 
more. Since that time all friendliness between 
us is at an end : the selfsame day he sent me my 
money, but with the command that I should not 
dare to come to the castle again ; and whenever 
we have chanced to meet since, he looks at ihe 
scowlingly, so that I well know he has not for- 
gotten the salmon-trout and my refusal: and 
now, can I believe he feels differently toward 
me ? that I cannot ! ” 

“ I had not known of this — not an intimation 
had I of it/’ said his wife, after a short silence, 
as she bent her eyes thoughtfully to the ground, 
while Frederick had not another word to utter. 

“ But, Anton, circumstances alter cases,” said 


88 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

Marie, at length. “ So long as yon were fortu- 
nate, it might be that the young lord wished you 
harm ; but now that we are stripped of all our 
resources, surely he will not suffer himself to 
indulge bitter feelings toward thee on account 
of a poor miserable fish. It is not possible that 
he can be so malicious. And then you must 
remember the baron did not think of this him- 
self, in order to entice you into the hut ; but 
Frederick spoke to him first about it, requesting 
that he would allow you to live there. His giv- 
ing consent does not look to me like hate or 
enmity.” 

“ Neither does it seem so to me, cousin ; cer- 
tainly not,” said the young huntsman, somewhat 
reassured. “ The young lord, I am confident, is 
not so vindictive. I am, even after all this, of 
the same opinion. I would take the cottage.” 

Anton shook his head again and again. “I 
trust him not, I trust him not ! ” he reflected. 
“ Do not urge me further, children. I will think 
about it, and give you an answer to-morrow.” 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN 89 

The subject was not further discussed. Fred- 
erick bade them farewell, and was followed by- 
Anton, under the pretext of looking at the 
wood-hut ; but he well knew that would be alto- 
gether useless, and wended his way to the vil- 
lage, asking among one and another of the pros- 
perous farmers if they could give him work for 
a year, or even for six months ; but his applica- 
tions were unsuccessful. With a heavy heart 
he set out upon his return — when suddenly he 
stood still, and, after a short but severe internal 
struggle, made a quick resolve : 

“ If I had only been so fortunate as to have 
obtained work ! ” thought he. “ I would rather 
have worked my fingers to the bone than have 
been dependent upon the baron ; but it cannot 
be ! there seems to be nothing else left for me to 
do ; so I will go and at least look at the wood- 
hut.” 

With hasty steps he turned in the direction 
of the forest. From Frederick’s description he 
knew where the cottage lay, and soon arrived at 


90 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 

the spot. He examined the hut with much 
interest. It was constructed of unhewn logs, 
and rudely roofed with thatch. The windows 
and doors appeared to be in good condition; 
only the roof was damaged here and there a 
little, during all this lapse of time. 

“ A few bundles of reeds will help that,” he 
thought. “What is left of the house is not 

4 

bad, and after all — but, first, I will look about 
a little.” Observing closely the surroundings, 
he soon saw that there were two or three acres 
of land, in such a condition that, before a year 
would pass, they would be fit for farming. The 
ground was now overgrown with weeds and 
brambles, but Anton knew it would require but 
a short time and but little labor to cultivate it, 
and make it once more fertile. At some dis- 
tance from the cottage, in a clearing, a hill 
reared its dome-like head, from which resounded 
a mingled warbling of all kinds of singing- 
birds. 

“A better place for bird-catching could no- 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN 91 

where be found in the forest,” said Anton ; “ and 
I am almost certain that my predecessor placed 
his snares there. Well, if I have permission 
given me — ” 

A last observant glance he cast at the hut, 
then bent his way homeward. Cheerfully he 
extended his hand to his wife, upon entering 
the little room, and kissed the little ones, who 
hung caressingly about him. 

“ You cannot guess where I have been, Marie,” 
said he. “ I have been to the forest, and taken 
a view of the hut.” 

“ And have you decided ? ” she asked, earn- 
estly. 

“Yes, I have decided,” he answered. “We 
will try it, Marie, even if the bargain be some- 
what hard at first. I have considered it well. 
I still think the young knight is not to be de- 
pended upon ; but I will so conduct myself to- 
ward him that it will be impossible for him to 
injure me in any way. He shall -receive his 
tenth justly. After I fulfil all my obligations, 


92 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 

his ill-will can do me no harm. My defence is 
of G-od, which saveth the upright in heart.” 

“ Nobly and sensibly spoken, Anton,” said his 
wife, greatly pleased. “And now I must tell 
thee about aunt, who, although she so willingly 
received us, yet, while you were absent, said 
somewhat about her cottage being too narrow 
and small for so many, and suggested that it 
might perhaps be better if we suffered our chil- 
dren to go out among strangers, at least until 
God, in his great mercy, would again grant us 
prosperity. It pierced my very heart, although 
our poor old aunt is certainly right : we are too 
many for her little house. But a great weight 
has been lifted from my breast ; now, as thou say- 
est, we can again have a little home of our own.” 

“Yes, yes, it shall indeed be so,” answered 
Anton, now fully resolved. “ Aunt means well, 
but she little knows what it would be to part 
from our children. No, rather would I endure 
the hardest fate than part from them. Cheer 
up ! Marie. To-morrow we will go to the wood- 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 93 

hut, and I will enter into terms with the young 
baron.” 

That same evening the pleasant news was 
communicated to their old aunt that Anton had 
provided another shelter for his family, and that 
her small cottage should no longer than that 
night be so heavily taxed. 

“ I am truly sorry that I cannot keep you,” 
she said ; “ but you yourselves see it could not 
last any length of time. At the very worst, if 
nothing else offered, you could be accommo- 
dated ; but if a better way opens — at all 
events, you know, Anton, my door would not be 
closed.” 

“ I know it, aunt. You have been very kind, 
and I thank you sincerely,” returned Anton, 
while he warmly pressed her hand. “ The Lord 
is our Shepherd ; we shall not want.” But if 
the worst should come, then — ” 

“ Think again upon thy old aunt,” she inter- 
rupted. “ A place of refuge, if it is but small 
and poor, thou shalt always find with her.” 


94 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 

It was resolved that on the following day the 
entire family should remove to the wood-hut. 
Frederick called at an early hour the next 
morning, and was rejoiced at Anton’s decision. 

“ Do not let the service cause you any unea- 
siness, cousin ; I will so arrange it that you shall 
not be burdened. The first hunt comes off late 
in the autumn ; and in the winter, when there is 
but little else for you to do, you can be on hand 
two or three days ; and you need give yourself 
no trouble about the rest of the time.” 

Frederick had the key of the hut with him, 
and offered to accompany them, which offer was 
accepted with pleasure ; so with bag and baggage 
they set forth, after taking a grateful leave of 
their kind benefactress. 

Marie was a little startled when she saw the 
old hut, and the ravages time had made upon it. 
Nothing but weeds and brambles were to be seen 
within the enclosure — then the damaged roof. 
But Anton said, encouragingly : 

“ Give me only one week, Marie, and all will 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 95 


be changed ; you will soon feel at home — if only 
no evil from without fall upon us; but I will 
not fear : 


‘ If God be my support, 

The mischief they intend me 
Shall quickly come to naught/ 

Will I be permitted, cousin Frederick, to place 
nets on yonder hill ? ” 

“Certainly,” answered the huntsman. “The 
old herdsman had his snares there, and certain 
privileges belong to the cottage as a right; 
only you dare not take any other game than 
the singing-birds.” 

“I know that,” said Anton. “Rather would 
I cut off my right hand than be a poacher — of 
that you can rest assured, Frederick, and your 
baron also. But now unlock the door ; we must 
see how the old hut looks inside.” 

Frederick opened the shutters, so that light 
and air might stream into the little house, they 
following, peering curiously around through the 


96 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

rooms which should, for the future, afford them 
protection and a shelter. 

“ It is not in as bad a state — not nearly so 
bad — as I feared. There is a table, and there 
are chairs, all good and firm ; and this room is 
quite large, so that we can all be seated com- 
fortably.” 

“Look at the kitchen and chamber,” said the 
huntsman. “To be sure, they are not in very 
good condition, but that Anton can soon repair.” 

They explored the little house, ascending to 
the rooms above, and Marie’s perplexed face 
grew more and more serene the further she ad- 
vanced. Splendid rooms they certainly were 
not, but, with a little trouble, could be made 
comfortable to live in ; and there was really 
more space than in their desolated cottage by 
the Rhine. The upper rooms were considerably 
damaged by the leaking of the snow and rain 
through the decayed roof, but these defects 
Anton promised to remedy speedily. After a 
most satisfactory inspection of the hut, the unan- 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 97 

imous decision was made that in the name of 
the Lord they would take possession of the 
dwelling. 

The key was delivered up to Anton, by Fred- 
erick, representing the baron as proprietor, with 
which the contract was closed without further 
formalities. 

“ Now,” said Marie, in the evening, when they 
we^e in peaceful possession, and had sought re- 
pose — “ now we have again a home : only, may 
our God add his blessing ! ” 

“ Amen ! ” responded Anton with deep emo- 
tion. “ If the Lord is on our side, whom shall 
we fear? He only is my rock and my salva- 
tion ; he is my defence ; I shall not be greatly 
moved. Let us praise the Lord with all our 
hearts, for his merciful kindness is great toward 


us. 



9 



CHAPTER IV. 

DER VOGELHERD. 


“ With clouds he covereth the light ; and commandeth it 
not to shine, by the cloud that cometh betwixt.” 


SNTON was not wont to fold his hands 



fU when there was work to be done ; and 
plenty of employment was to be found 
in their new place of refuge. The first thing 
to be thought of was the repairing of the roof, 
much of which was in a dilapidated condition. 
Reeds, he knew, could be obtained without num- 
ber in their immediate neighborhood; and by 
the use of his boat and a cart — borrowed from 
one of his former neighbors — he gathered them 
in great abundance, and before evening they had 
provided all that were needed; for all went 
bravely to work. Then the interior of the hut 

98 



ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 99 

was improved. Anton had brought a few neces-; 
sary tools from their old home; and while he 
was busy with these, Marie and the children 
were cleaning, scouring, and washing, until all 
in the little cottage was in as good order as cir- 
cumstances would allow. 

After the repairing of the house came the cul- 
tivation of the field-land. This labor devolved 
almost entirely upon Anton. To plough, root 
out the bushes, and pull up the weeds, required 
more strength than the others possessed. Mean- 
while, however, they were not idle. Anton, pre- 
paring for the future, procured pack-thread, with 
which nets were to be made for catching birds, 
which was easy work for the more delicate hands 
of the children and their mother — all the more 
easy, as they were accustomed to the making of 
fish-nets for their father to use in the pursuit of 
his business. Before the field was in order the 
nets were finished, and Anton was soon to prove 
whether his plan of setting up bird - snares 
would succeed or not. 


100 ANTON ; TIIE FISHERMAN 

While all this preparation and work was in 
progress, they necessarily endured many priva- 
tions ; but their hope and courage did not desert 
them. 

“ We must bear it,” said Anton and his wife, 
when some want was especially urgent — and 
they did bear it patiently. Fortunately, Anton 
was valued and beloved by all his neighbors, and 
they willingly assisted him as far as lay in their 
power — lending him materials and tools suitable 
to his purposes — even sending him seed-corn and 
potatoes for his field, or supplying him with food 
for himself and family: each one helping him 
willingly, saying, “ Return them again, if you can ; 
but if not, never mind.” 

Anton received all that was so kindly offered, 
with a deeply grateful heart; resolving, at the 
same time, that every obligation should be 
honorably discharged ; keeping a strict account 
of all he received, and from whom, so that not 
one of his benefactors should be forgotten. To 
this list he also added the gold-piece presented 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 101 

by the stranger whom he rescued from the 
church-tower. Anton, happily, was able in a 
short time, with the strictest economy, to re- 
lieve his family from their most pressing wants. 
Marie sought to economize the groschen and 
kreuzer; but they would not last forever; and 
when she saw their resources steadily diminish- 
ing, she became more and more depressed. One 
evening, after a hard day’s work, when Anton 
returned to his home, he noticed that something 
unusual must have occurred to discourage his 
light-hearted, patient wife. 

“ What has happened, Marie ? ” he affection- 
ately asked. “ Some weight rests upon thy heart 
and oppresses thee?” 

“Yes; Anton, thou hast guessed aright,” she 
answered, trying to restrain the tears which rose 
from her overburdened heart. “ I must tell thee, 
I have to-day taken from out my little purse its 
last groschen.” 

“Then it is well,” said Anton, “that I received 
to-day two gulden for my fish ; ” and well-pleased 
9 * 


102 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

lie drew from his pocket a handful of small 
silver coins. “See there, Marie; now thou 
needst not grieve.” 

The poor woman cried aloud for joy. “ How 
happens it that you received this money ? ” she 
cried. “ Ah ! it is still true that ‘ man’s ex- 
tremity is God’s opportunity ! ’ Thou canst not 
think how heavy my heart has been for the past 
two or three days, and now I could weep for 

joy-” 

“ Yes, my wife, I saw it, and it did not take 
me long to think where the shoe pinched. So, 
night before last, while you slept, I arose softly 
and went down to the river. As I have no net 
now to cast, I set my lines — and can you con- 
ceive my joy, when I found this morning fast 
upon every line a fish, and among them two 
splendid trout, of four or five pounds’ weight. 
Taking them to Bonn, I found ready sale, and 
have but now returned with the money which 
the fish brought me. So cast away all care, my 
wife. See ! the house is now repaired ; the fields 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 103 

are sown. We have all of us toiled with all our 
might ; and now we can do no more than pray 
for the blessing of the God of the harvest. Mean- 
while, I can carry on my old business with my 
lines, until your busy fingers repair our loss. 
We have the bird-nets, too; and to-morrow I 
will set up the snares, with which we can capture 
the little songsters : they will be of as much value 
to us as the fish of the Rhine.” 

“ What can we do with the birds ? ” asked 
Marie. 

“ Can you not guess ? Willie will carry them 
about the country in little cages, and you will 
see that he will bring home from town and vil- 
lage many a kreuzer.” 

“ But how can we make the bird-cages, 
Anton?” 

“ Out of the willows by the brook ; such a cage 
is quickly constructed, and I will teach you and 
Louisa how to do it ; it will not be as hard as 
you think. Cheer up, good wife ; you know our 
God will be with us, as he has been in the past. 


104 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 

After summer comes the harvest, and with it all 
want and care will pass away. Let us pray 
earnestly that no hail-storm come and beat down 
the young sprouts ; but that our God ‘ will make 
the ground soft with his showers, that he will 
bless the springing thereof.’ ” 

“I will not neglect it,” answered Marie. 
“ Truly my soul waiteth upon God, and is full 
of gratitude for all the grace and mercy with 
which he has regarded us in our low estate : in 
the Lord do I put my trust. How excellent is Thy 
loving kindness ! therefore the children of men 
put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.” 

Soon was her unshaken confidence most sorely 
tried. Scarcely had they recovered from the 
losses they had sustained, when another heavy 
cloud arose, darkening their sky, and bearing 
within its bosom the scathing lightning. 

Six months, perhaps, had elapsed since they 
entered the little wood-hut, and during all that 
time they had never seen the young knight. 
Anton, for a time, indulged in somewhat gloomy 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 105 

forebodings about the design of liis former adver- 
sary, until at last he came to the conclusion that 
he had bestowed upon it unnecessary thought 
and care. Zealously and diligently he attended 
to his work ; many a night he left his home for 
the Khine, and taking his boat, laid out his lines 
in the various places where, in former times, he 
knew the fish abounded. Upon returning home, 
he scarcely allowed himself two hours’ sleep, for 
he must away to the hill before the rising of 
the sun, if he would expect to secure the little 
warblers. Then, when he brought home his flut- 
tering, feathered prey, again must he visit the 
river to see what success he may meet with there. 
If he was not disappointed, he must wander forth 
to the nearest town or village in order to sell his 
fish. For hours he would travel in this manner, 
and when at length he returned to his home, some- 
times long after midday, he would eat, hastily, a 
few bites of the meagre noonday meal ; and then 
sit down to help the children weave the cages, 
for which they had daily increased demand. 


106 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 

Anton was soon as skilful a bird-catcher as fish- 
erman, and he soon discovered that his snares 
would yield him a better income than his fishing- 
lines. 

Willie carried the little captives, in their neat 
willow cages, far and wide through the country, 
remaining sometimes three or four days upon his 
journey ings, and on his return always brought 
with him his purse well filled. His merchandise 
found ready sale, which might have been owing 
in a measure to the pretty, pleasant face of the 
little bird-fancier. 

While each one labored industriously and 
actively, the seed which had been confided to the 
earth sprouted and joyously thrived, awakening 
the hope that they would indeed have a blessed 
harvest. Their sky was bright and serene, and 
Anton hopefully thought of the future. The 
former advances of his neighbors he had paid 
back little by little, and already had he gathered 
together something in reserve for the future. 
Their wants ,were but few, and the expense 


ANTON \ THE FISHERMAN. 107 

attending his business was trifling. But now the 
thunder of the approaching storm was heard in 
the distance, and a dark cloud arose, whose light- 
ning threatened to discharge itself upon their 
defenceless heads. 

It was on a deliciously clear, mild summer 
morning, when Anton awakened Willie to accom- 
pany him to the hill. 

“ Quick, quick, little one,” he cried ; “ the sun 
will soon be up, and we must be on hand, if we 
would not lose the best hours of the day.” 

The active boy was soon ready : scarcely five 
minutes had passed until he walked with his 
father to the hill. The sport promised to be 
good, the air was pure and fresh, and already the 
little songsters of the wood were tuning their 
voices for their morning song ; the dew hung like 
brilliants upon the blades of grass, and glistened 
like purest pearl upon bush and tree; the sky 
gleamed bright and clear, and, far in the east, some 
soft, light clouds, tinged by the first beams of the 
rising sun, trembled in the purple, atmosphere. 


108 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 

“Listen! father,” said Willie, while Anton 
made the necessary preparations, setting the net, 
and placing the decoy-bird in the proper place — 
“ listen ! To-day all the birds in the neighborhood 
will go into the trap. Hark! how exultantly 
they sing : there is the shrill note of the finch ; 
from oyer there resound the notes of the gay- 
colored cross-bill: I hear, too, the linnet, and 
finches without number. What a glorious capture 
it will be ! Why, I will have to remain away a 
whole week, or more, until all these little war- 
blers are sold.” 

“Yes, yes, Willie,” answered his father; “but 
be careful that the towing-line does not become 
entangled, as happened lately, when our little 
captives escaped from under our very hands.” 

“Give yourself no uneasiness father; I have 
learned a lesson : you certainly were not half so 
much provoked at my stupidity as I was my- 
self: the net had birds under it that are but 
seldom caught — even a bluebird, that is so hard 
to entice into the net, and for which a gentleman 


ANTON, THE FISHER MAN. 109 

in Konigswinter has promised me a whole gul- 
den if I bring him one. I could box my own 
ears whenever I think of it.” 

“You have had enough scolding from me — 
that will suffice for this time,” answered his 
father, smiling; “let the unpleasant remembrance 
be a lesson for the future. But now I see every- 
thing is in order : let us hide ourselves, so that 
the little creatures may go into the net.” 

Slipping into the hut built of reeds and leaves, 
which stood near the snare, among the bushes, 
they each placed themselves at a loop-hole, and 
listened and looked with intense anxiety ; while 
here and there, now clear and shrill, now flute- 
like, now blithely, resounded the notes of the 
many-colored birds. The melody sounded nearer 
and nearer ; the decoy-bird called and sang, and 
it was not long until the whole throng of little 
feathered singers was gathered around. the snare, 
and, warbling merrily, fluttered down from near- 
est bush and tree. But, although the tempter in 
the net enticed, although Anton had strewn the 


10 


110 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 

dainty feed, and effectually concealed the nets, yet 
the coy wildlings seemed to have some presen- 
timent of threatening danger, and it was some 
time before one of them ventured to peck at the 
offered dainties. 

At length a splendid finch flew near. With 
one bold spring he darted from the hough, and 
seated himself in the midst of the tempting food. 
At first he appeared to be frightened at his own 
boldness, for, stretching his neck, he looked tim- 
idly around, not touching the grain, and seem- 
ing as though he would the next moment ab- 
ruptly take his flight ; but when all was quiet, 
and he saw not the slightest cause for suspicion, 
he took fresh courage. His bold pink ! pink ! 
resounded anew, and he even dared to crush the 
hemp-seed which he pecked from the richly 
spread board ; and then raising again his little 
blue head and peering anxiously around, as 
though punishment would certainly follow such 
extreme audacity ; but neither hearing nor see- 
ing anything to alarm him, again calling, 


ANTON, TIIN FISHERMAN 111 

shrill and clear, his pink ! pink ! he set to afresh, 
and ate as though he would never be satisfied. 

His example inspired his comrades with cour- 
age, who, perched upon the branches around, 
had been for some time observing him ; or per- 
haps envy banished fear, lest the forward finch 
should gobble up all the dainties if they did not, 
without further delay, come to some conclusion. 
The twittering and chirping suddenly redoubled, 
and, lo ! two — four — six lively fellows, finches, 
and a coy little linnet from a neighboring spray, 
pecked and ate as greedily as their audacious 
predecessor. 

“ Now we have them, father,” whispered Wil- 
lie, softly ; “ all is going well ! ” 

“ Hist ! hist ! not so loud ! ” returned Anton, 
“ or you will see they will fly away ! ” 

At that very moment their suspicion seemed 
to be aroused : the timid linnet raised its head 
from the ground, and the finches were in the act 
of taking flight, when they saw the greedy little 
green-finch quite undisturbed, and changed their 


112 ANTON, THE FIS HER 31 A N. 

minds. A warning look from liis father re- 
minded Willie that he should keep perfectly 
still, and he was smart enough now to under- 
stand a look. Nodding, he stood immovable as 
a stone ; his eye only appeared to have life ; it 
brightened, and sparkled, and flashed with joy, 
as he saw the little feathered choir around sang 
still louder and bolder, and that one bird after 
another suffered itself to be enticed into partak- 
ing of the dangerous meal. Cross-bills, with 
their bright red and green plumage, flew up; 
starlings pecked and pushed to gain a place, and 
a magnificent bullfinch mingled with the mot- 
ley winged throng. The yellow-hammer, thistle- 
finch, linnet, and many another flocked to the 
spot, falling greedily upon the bait. And now 
Willie was almost afraid to breathe; for now 
came not only one, but two of those long-coveted 
bluebirds, swinging aloft upon a slender spray 
close to the snare, stretching their necks and 
looking around, hopping now near, now away, 
casting ever a longing look at the tempting 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 113 

worms in the box, which Willie had placed 
there expressly for just such treasures. But, 
although the delicious morsel enticed alluringly, 
the bluebirds still hesitated — perhaps one of 
them had been entangled in the net some days 
before, when it escaped through Willie’s indis- 
cretion, and, as says the proverb, “The burnt 
child dreads the fire.” The bluebirds lingered and 
longed — they might so easily swallow the dainty 
morsel, and yet not lose their liberty. But 
while this consultation lasted, a bold nightingale 
pounced upon a rich worm, then upon a second, 
and then a third, until, overcome with greedi- 
ness, he gobbled up a fourth, and even a fifth. 
That was a little too much for the bluebirds — 
envy overcame their fear. Gently fluttering came 
one, the other holding back, still undecided; 
then — presto ! both were seated in the box, and 
the worms fared no better than the hemp-seed, 
disappearing with astonishing rapidity within 
the slender bills of the gormandizing little rob- 
bers. 


10 * 


H 


114 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

“ Now ! ” said his father by a look to Willie ; 
and, trembling with excitement, the boy seized 
the line — the draw was successful, and, shout- 
ing aloud for joy, Willie threw himself upon 
his father’s breast and exultingly threw his arm 
about his neck. 

“Caught! they are ours! — the bluebirds and 
the nightingale too ! That was a lucky draw, 
father,” he cried ; “ they are worth at least ten or 
twelve gulden ! ” 

“ I think so,” returned the father, well pleased. 
“ Mother will be highly delighted when we take 
home such rare booty. But now calm yourself, 
Willie; we must dispose of our precious cap- 
tives. Quick ! bring me the cages, so that the 
little creatures do not strangle themselves in 
the net.” 

Joyfully Willie obeyed, while Anton freed 
one bird after another. The precious bluebirds 
and the nightingale he prudently took out first, 
so that they should not again escape, placing 
them in the little cages prepared for them, which 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 115 

the boy quickly covered with a large linen cloth, 
lest the little timid creatures should injure them- 
selves in their efforts to escape. So great was 
the draw, that more than one bird had to be 
placed in a cage. When all was secure, and 
Anton was now arranging his net to take it with 
them, suddenly there sounded upon the sod the 
quick tramp of hoofs, and the next moment the 
young baron, in a rich gold-braided hunting- 
coat, and mounted, appeared upon the brow of 
the hill. Anton shrank a little at this unex- 
pected encounter ; but, taking off his hat, cour- 
teously bowed. The greeting was not returned, 
but, casting upon Anton a half-threatening, half- 
malicious look — 

“ Hallo ! ” he cried, harshly ; “ what does this 
mean ? I cannot believe, fisher Anton, that you 
carry on poaching in my forest ! ” 

“ Oh, no ! sir knight,” answered Anton, with a 
frank, open look ; “ Willie and I have only taken 
a few singing-birds in my net.” 

“ In your net ! ” cried the knight. “ And how 


116 ANTON, TEE FISHERMAN. 

dare you set up nets upon my premises without 
my permission ? Do you know, fellow, that for 
this offence I could cast you into prison ? ” 

Anton’s brow, at these offensive words, flushed 
deeply; he felt that he did not deserve such 
treatment, and it distressed and pained as well 
as angered him. Controlling his words until 
the young baron had concluded, he answered 
calmly : “ If I have done wrong, my lord, it has 
not been intentionally. JVhen you were so kind 
as to offer us the use of the little log-hut, I asked 
your huntsman if I would be allowed to capture 
singing-birds ; and his answer was that the baron 
would have no objection ; because my predecessor, 
the old herdsman, had on this very same spot his 
snares.” 

“ The old herdsman was a faithful servant of 
my father and grandfather, to whom one might 
well show a little favor,” returned the baron 
Ottfried, in the same harsh tone. “But who are 
you? What service have you rendered our 
house, that you should have this privilege, if it 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 117 

comes to a question of right ? I know of none ! 
I only know that you are a bold, shameless 
scoundrel, whom I, for his theft — for that, and 
nothing else is your capture, as you call it — 
should well polish with my riding-whip. The 
birds here in the forest belong to me. Do you 
understand me, fellow ? ” 

Anton grew pale. “ My lord baron,” said he, 
greatly agitated, not through fear, but indig- 
nation, “ you go too far ! I will not suffer my- 
self to be insulted, if I am your servant and 
bondsman. Your house, it is true, I occupy; but 
I do not live there free — for its use I must fulfil 
certain obligations, which I will do when the 
proper time comes : besides, if I have done wrong 
in erecting these snares, it gives you no right to 
call me a thief or a scoundrel, or to threaten to 
beat me : I advise you not to attempt the latter, 
for I fear neither you nor your whip. If I have 
committed a crime, complain of me, and I will 
answer before the justice ; but beyond that — 
no other injury.” 


118 ANTON , , THE FISHERMAN 

The baron laughed derisively. “ Complain ! 
complain of a rogue like you ! what good would 
that do? No, fellow; nothing of that sort. 
You have no right to catch birds in this wood, 
and I command you to carry to my castle 
those you have already caught — every one. Do 
you understand ? Away with that cloth ! I 
would see what fortune has given me to-day, and 
whether it does not hide something that savors 
still more of poaching than yellow-hammers and 
robins ! ” 

Willie, with tears in his eyes, looked inquir- 
ingly at his father. “ Take off the covering, my 
boy,” said he with composure. “ I fear the young 
knight has the right ; although it is hard to deny 
to us that which is granted to every herdsboy peas- 
ant — the privilege of carrying off a few singing- 
birds ; but we must obey, Willie : uncover them ! ” 

The boy now drew the cloth aside. “ Quite a 
pretty capture,” said the baron, maliciously ; “ it 
is worth almost as much as a ten-pound salmon- 
trout ! Eh, Anton : what do you think ? ” 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 119 

“ I think, sir knight, it is not magnanimous to 
insult an unfortunate man! I see you would 
revenge yourself upon me for the trout I refused 
to carry to your kitchen. Well, if it be your 
pleasure, I must bear it — I can maintain my 
family without the birds; you can take them, 
my lord ! but believe me, I do not envy you the 
feelings with which you stand before me, a poor 
man! Come, Willie; give the birds to his 
grace.” 

“Not there!” cried Baron Ottfried, angrily. 
“ Come near, you boy ! now open all the cages, 
and let the birds fly out ; all but the two blue- 
birds which I see among the others — I have been 
wishing for one for a long time — and, without any 
further hesitation, carry them up to the castle ! 
Look to yourself, if they escape ; as for the rest, 
let them fly.” 

Willie broke out into a loud cry: the poor 
boy’s heart was almost broken over the loss of 
his bluebirds, whose capture, such a short time 
before, had made him so happy ; and he could 


120 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

scarcely persuade himself to obey the command, 
and with his own hand open the cages to set 
them free. His father felt for the poor child the 
tenderest sympathy. 

“Let it alone, Willie,” said he. “I see it is too 
hard for you. I will obey the baron’s command ; ” 
and himself opening the cages, he set the lit- 
tle captives free. Chirping lustily, they rose in 
the air, while, with bitter tears, Willie v 7 ith his 
eye followed their flight. 

“ But the bluebirds, my lord ! ” sobbed the 
poor child. “ Ah ! I pray you, only let me keep 
the bluebirds ! I beg, I implore your grace ! ” 

“ Up to the castle with them ! ” reiterated the 
young noble, rudely and remorselessly; and, giv- 
ing his horse the spur, with a derisive laugh he 
galloped quickly away. 

“Hush! hush! my child,” said his father, 
stroking .pityingly the pale cheek of the sob- 
bing boy. “ If we dare not keep these, we can 
soon catch another pair: there are more forests 
and woods around than the baron’s ; it will take 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 121 

us but an hour or two more to reach a new hunt- 
ing-ground : it is not such a great misfortune ; we 
will only have to rise a little earlier, that is all. 
Do not cry and sob so, Willie ; but carry the 
birds quietly up to the castle, as you were told to 
do!” 

“ But it is too bad, too shamefully bad, father,” 
cried Willie, still sobbing bitterly. “ A poor boy 
like me! not to allow me the pleasure of the 
promised reward. Oh ! how bad and hard-hearted 
he is.” 

“ Let him be, my child,” answered his father. 
“What great evil has he done you? taken away a 
few birds ; about such a trifle one should not be 
angry and use harsh words : so carry the birds 
to the castle, and when you get back we will 
determine where we will set our nets for the 
future. Cheer up, Willie, dry your tears ! 
there are more bluebirds than these in the 
world!” 

The boy tried to force back the bitter tears, 
and taking up the cage, he set out on his sorrow- 
11 


122 ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 


fill errand ; while Anton thoughtfully and with 
a troubled heart returned to his cottage. 

“Thou wilt see, Marie/’ said he to his wife, af- 
ter he had related to her the occurrence — “Thou 
wilt see this is only the beginning of his ill-will. 
The young knight seeks revenge, and will not be 
satisfied until he has accomplished all that he 
designed before I took this cottage.” 

Marie sought to remove these forebodings of 
her husband, with but little success however ; for 
her own heart was heavy and sad. For some time 
they sat silent, each thinking over the events of 
the day, the presentiment of coming evil pressing 
heavily upon their hearts. 



CHAPTER V. 

BEARDING THE LION IN HIS DEN. 

“ Better is the poor that walketh in his uprightness, than 
he that is perverse in his ways, though he be rich/’ 

NTON,” said poor Marie to her husband 
the next morning, after she had sent the 
children out into the wood, and could 
talk with him undisturbed, “yesterday’s occur- 
rence at the hill would not suffer me to rest : I 
did not sleep half the night ; I could only think, 
and something presented itself to me that it 
may be well for us to try.” 

“ What is it, good wife ? ” questioned Anton. 

“You know, husband,” continued Marie, “this 
wood-hut has never really seemed like home to 
any of us : how would it be were we to leave it, 
and go to our own dear cottage by the Rhine ? ” 

123 



124 AWT ON, THE FISHERMAN. 

“That would be pleasant indeed,” answered 
Anton smiling ; “ but you forget it will have to 
be built up again from its .very foundation, and 
that nothing can be done without money.” 

“No, I have not forgotten, and I have a prop- 
osition to make about that very thing. How 
• much money would be needed to enable us to 
rebuild it?” 

“A large amount, Marie: it could not be done 
under three or four hundred gulden.” 

“ What if I could furnish you with five 
hundred Anton ? ” 

“Oh ! now I see what you propose to do,” said 
her husband, with a smile. “You will go to 
the old baron, and demand the money that he 
borrowed from your father so long ago: that 
would accomplish nothing, Marie ; and it is 
the wiser course for us at present not to attempt 
it.” 

“ Wise or not wise, Anton,” interrupted Marie, 
eagerly, “ it is apparent to me the young baron 
does not favor us, and will endeavor to give us 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 125 

all the trouble he possibly can : it matters but 
little, I think, if we anger him a little more. 
My demand is not unjust: the baron owes the 
money, and he will either have to pay or deny 
before the justice that he ever received it. Per- 
haps when he sees we are in earnest, he will feel 
ashamed of his conduct, and will dread the scan- 
dal among the villagers, and so in this way be 
induced to discharge his debt. Only think, 
Anton, what a happiness that would be! ” 

“ Great happiness ! yes, much, too much for me 
even to hope for,” returned Anton. “ How will it 
be if he be not ashamed, nor will fear the hard 
talk of those around him, and should represent 
us as impostors, who wish to swindle him out of 
some money ? how then, Marie ? ” 

“ That could not injure us,” she answered; “no 
one will believe that we are impostors ; our neigh- 
bors know us too well : at the worst, they will only 
think we have been mistaken.” 

“ So be it, Marie : but, if the justice refuse to 
hear our complaint, I do not dare to think of 
' 11 * • 


126 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

what the baron may inflict upon us. In the first 
place, he would not allow us to remain here.” 

“Not if he dare take the hut from us; but 
that is not so easily done, Anton : we have taken 
the cottage on lease for a year, and before that 
length of time he cannot put us out: there is 
certainly law in the land, Anton.” 

“That may be. This much is clear to me, 
Marie, that he would persecute us to the bitter 
end ; and a wicked man can do much harm.” 

“ What harm, Anton, can he possibly do ? you 
are upright and honest — you discharge all your 
obligations : he would have to seek a long time 
before he finds you guilty of any wrong deed ; so 
he will not be able to gratify his malice, even if 
he ever wish to. Honesty is a good shield, a 
sure protection against all the assaults of the 
evil-minded. We are hot the baron’s serfs, An- 
ton ; we only live under his lease, and if we pay 
him his rent in money or w T ork, he is bound to 
leave us in peace. No, no, Anton; do not 
attempt to persuade me to give up my plan. I 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 127 

will go up to the castle, and speak to the old 
lord freely and openly, and if he denies the debt, 
I know where the justice lives ; but do not think 
there will be any necessity to complain to him. 
I know for a certainty that our claim is just, and 
all will be right, if only the old baron is con- 
vinced that we are at last in earnest. And will 
we not all rejoice when we can again return to 
our own little cottage, where we passed so many, 
many happy days ? ” 

Anton suffered himself to be persuaded. The 
tender reminiscences of those joyous times in his 
little fisher-cottage upon the banks of the Rhine, 
and, still more, the firm conviction that Marie 
was right, overcame his opposition, and even dis- 
posed him to entertain some faint glimmer of 
hope. 

“Well, then,” said he, “if we intend to make 
the attempt, let us act at once : we will at least 
know what to expect, and no longer suffer our- 
selves to be disturbed by doubt, fear, and uncer- 
tainty. Let us go, Marie ; I will go with you. 


128 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN 

And now, whatever be the result, we must, at all 
events, in this matter, walk in a straight path, 
and look well before us.” 

“We are surely right. I would rather go to- 
day than put it off until to-morrow,” said Marie, 
decidedly. And, without further delay, they set 
out for the castle. 

“ Do you not feel some dread ? ” asked Anton, 
as they entered the court-yard. 

“ Not in the least,” answered Marie, as, with 
light foot, she ascended the lofty steps, followed 
by her husband. Requesting to speak with his 
grace, they were at once conducted to him. 

The baron was seated in a huge arm-chair. 
He was an old man, but of powerful frame, with 
gray hair and moustache. He was evidently 
suffering from an attack of the gout, for his foot 
was enveloped in a woollen covering. He was 
not in the most amiable of tempers, for he rudely 
bade them enter, and cast upon them a dark, 
scowling look. 

“ What brings you here? ” he cried, in a rough 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 129 

voice. “Your young one howled enough yes- 
terday, and now you come to beg for the birds 
which my son took from you. But you may 
spare yourselves the trouble of any further 
words on the subject. I approve of what my 
son has done. To set up nets in my forest, I 
will, under no circumstances, permit. Now you 
have received your answer, and may go ! ” 

“We have not come for that, gracious sir,” 
Marie returned, in reply to this harsh speech. 

“ What then do you want ? ” inquired the old 
knight. “ What more have I to do with you 
people ? Make whatever you have to say short, 
for I am not in the mood to listen patiently to 
your- stupid babbling now! What do you 
want ? ” 

“ Only to remind my lord of the five hundred 
gulden which his grace borrowed so long ago 
from my father, the school-master of Emmen- 
bach,” answered Marie, courageously. 

A dark flush overspread the face of the old 
baron — produced either through shame or wrath 
l 


130 ANTON, THE FIS HER M AN. 


— and, stamping vehemently upon the floor with 
the crutch which stood beside his arm-chair, he 
cried: “Has the woman taken leave of her 
senses ? Five hundred gulden, you say ! and I 
have borrowed them? You are mad! mad! 
mad ! ” 

“ Pardon me, my lord ; I am not mad,” re- 
turned Marie, calmly, and without being the 
least intimidated. “ I remember perfectly, when 
I was a child, of my father’s counting out upon 
the table, in our house, the bright crown-pieces, 
which he then gave to my lord, you giving for 
them, in return, a bond. I can see it as plain 
as though it happened but yesterday ; and, be- 
sides, my father, upon his death-bed, said your 
grace had not paid back the loan; and now I 
pray — because we are in pressing need — that 
you would have the goodness ” 

“ Silence ! woman,” interrupted the baron, 
again beating passionately with his crutch upon 
the floor ; “ there is the door ! Away, with your 
insolence, lest I forget myself, and cast you out 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 131 

from my service, and set the very hounds in the 
yard upon you ! Such unparalleled audacity ! 
Out with you ! away with you ! Well is it for 
you that my son Ottfried is not here ; he would 
make short work with you. Be off, I say, at 
once ! ” 

Marie hesitated not, neither did she show the 
slightest fear. “ In the presence of your son — 
of the whole world, I would reiterate that your 
grace borrowed of my father five hundred gul- 
den, and has not paid them back even to this 
present day,” she said, with composure. “Be 
not angry, my lord. What I assert is the truth. 
You know it to be the truth, and the truth 
should ever be listened to with calmness. I 
again beg of you that you will pay me the 
money, and I will not even mention the interest. 
If your grace denies my statement altogether, 
we have waited long enough, and will see if the 
judge will not help us to recover what belongs 
to us.” 

The old baron roared in his wrath. Had his 


132 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

disabled condition permitted, he would have 
sprung up and laid violent hands upon the brave 
young frau ; but he was obliged to content him- 
self with giving vent to his fury — in pouring 
out upon Marie and her husband wicked threats 
and violent menaces. 

At last, Anton thought it was his turn to 
speak, and advanced fearlessly in front of the 
enraged baron. 

“There has been abuse enough, sir knight,” 
he said, in a firm voice. “ If we are poor, that 
gives you no right to threaten or insult us. You 
have heard the demand of my wife, and you are 
aware that she is an upright, God-fearing woman, 
who will not ask for that to which she has no 
right, and that she has asserted nothing but the 
truth. Give us a short and final answer, sir 
baron. Do you acknowledge the debt, or not ? ” 

“No, no, no ! a thousand times no 1 ” cried the 
baron, and his dark, red face assumed a purple 
hue, through the fearful rage that convulsed him. 
“ If I borrowed the money from the old fellow, 


ANTON, THE FISHER MA N. 133 

the school-master, where is the bond ? The wo- 
man said herself that I gave her father a bond. 
Where is it? If you had ever had one, you 
would long since have presented it. If you have 
none, all your babbling is as nothing. ’Tis a 
shameless lie ! You are impostors, who try this 
method to extort money from me ; but you have 
tried the wrong man. I know how to deal with 
people of your stamp. Now, for the last time, 
go ! or I will have you turned out.” 

“ We are going, sir knight,” returned Marie. 
“ If you deny this debt on your conscience, and 
before my face, so be it ; but we will see if you 
will not think better of it in presence of the 
justice. Farewell, my lord. We go, but from 
here straight to the magistrate’s.” 

“Go to the hangman! for all that I care,” 
shouted the baron after her. 

Marie calmly took the arm of her husband 
and departed. 

“I was firmly convinced that this would be 
the result, Marie,” said Anton. “ He is a wicked, 


12 


134 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

malignant old man ; and you will find out that 
from this time he will oppress us all the more 
heavily ; hut let our motto ever be, ‘ Honor God, 
do justly, and fear no man. 5 I do not regret our 
coming ; for now I feel firmly persuaded that he 
knew the truth of thy whole story. If it were 
not so, why then the passion and the vehement 
wrath of the old baron ? I saw how the color 
rushed to his face when you first mentioned the 
loan ; that was the consciousness of guilt. Only 
have patience : all will be brought to light in the 
right time, as the apple falls from the tree when 
it is ripe. You acted bravely before the fierce 
old baron: it both gratified and surprised me, 
Marie!” 

“ Why should I fear before him ? ” she returned. 
“ I knew my cause was just, and, besides, wast 
not thou with me ? But, come, Anton ; our next 
visit must be to the magistrate’s.” The office was 
not far from the castle, and a walk of a few 
minutes, after descending the hill, brought them 
to the spot. The judge suffered them to enter at 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 135 

once, and kindly asked what they desired. Marie 
related in clear and concise language the transac- 
tion, and described the interview which they just 
had with the baron. The justice, fortunately, was 
a brave, honest man, who administered the law 
without distinction of person ; he listened atten- 
tively, but, when she ended, shook his head 
dubiously. “The baron altogether denies the 
debt ? ” said he. 

“ He does, Herr,” answered Marie. 

“ And you have no bond or any proof to bring 
that he really received the money ? ” 

“ None, Herr, but that I was present when the 
baron put the money in his pocket.” 

“That would not help us much, even though I 
were convinced of the correctness of your state- 
ment — which I certainly am. Marie, why have 
you not attended to the case before this ? Now 
years have elapsed, and if we can bring no proof, 
he will deny it again, or will insist that the money 
has all been paid back long ago. I can give you 
but little hope, if you are unable to bring the 
bond.” 


136 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

“ If I only knew where it was ! ” she said, 
musingly. “ That it is in existence, I do not for 
one moment doubt. Where can it be hidden ? 
I have repeatedly searched for it, but in vain ! 
and now, when the inundation has swept all 
away, there is but little prospect of our ever 
finding it.” 

“ We then must try conciliatory measures with 
the baron : I will talk with him to-day, and in 
the morning you can come and hear the result 
of the interview. As it looks to me now, I have 
but little hope of a favorable conclusion. I will 
do what I can, however ; for I know that you, 
Marie, are a good, upright woman, in whom I 
can place confidence. God be with you, and let 
me see you again to-morrow.” 

With intense anxiety, doubt, and solicitude, 
Anton and his wife waited for the coming mor- 
row, and Marie was obliged to confess that she 
had passed even a more restless night than the 
preceding. Sadly did she learn that her fore- 
bodings had not been without foundation ; for 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 137 

when she at noon called at the magistrate’s office, 
she received the sorrowful intelligence that the 
baron had positively denied having any knowl- 
edge of a debt owing the school-master or his 
daughter. 

“ I would advise you to say no more about it, 
Marie,” said the judge. “ If you would issue a 
formal complaint against the baron, it would cost 
you much, and you would gain nothing by your 
complaint; and your peace of mind, too, would 
be greatly disturbed — for you can bring no 
proof against the baron. ‘Daily, injustice is 
done, and too often might is the right of the 
strongest; ’ but if your cause is just, and I believe 
it is, the day will come, even though long de- 
layed, when Heaven will certainly restore to you 
this that has so unjustly been withheld.” 

With heavy heart Marie left the office; sorrow- 
fully she returned to her cottage. Anton re- 
frained from questioning her ; he read only too 
plainly the answer in her troubled face. 

“ Our hope then has been in vain,” said he. 

12 * 


138 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

“ Grieve not over it, Marie ! we have lived with- 
out the five hundred gulden thus far ; and our 
God, who has always helped us, will help us to 
the end ! ‘ Trust ye in the Lord forever.’ Our 

Redeemer is mighty ; he will plead our cause.” 

Anton rested not until he had soothed and 
comforted the sad heart of his wife, and then, 
as if nothing unusual had occurred, attended to 
his accustomed duties. 



n 



CHAPTER VI. 

PERSECUTION. 

“ I called upon thy name, 0 Lord, out of the low dungeon : 
thou hast seen my wrong; judge thou my cause.” 

Anton expressed the fear that he 
d now he exposed to the remorse- 
less revenge of the baron, he was not 
mistaken. Meanwhile a week passed without 
his seeing the young knight, and it almost ap- 
peared as if he intended troubling himself no 
more about the poor inmates of the log hut. 

“ It is easily seen that he does not intend to 
harm us,” said Anton to his wife. “He who 
does no evil need fear none. Be tranquil and 
fear not.” 

“ I fear not,” she answered : “ I am only grieved 
for our Willie. Since the baron took away from 
him the bluebirds, and denied to us the priv- 

139 



140 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 

ilege of the snares, he creeps around so despond- 
ingly, and frets continually that he can no longer 
earn for us a few groschen.” 

“ I am glad that thou hast reminded me of 
it,” said Anton. “I have never thought since 
about setting up my nets in another forest. I 
have been so very busy that I entirely forgot, 
my promise to the poor boy. I will at once go 
to the Herr Oberforster, and ask permission to 
catch a few singing-birds in the royal forest; 
and I feel sure it will not be refused.” 

Anton was soon upon his way. About noon 
he returned well pleased, and reported that all 
the arrangements were satisfactorily settled — a 
huntsman had pointed out to him two suitable 
places, and permission had been given him to 
set up his snares whenever he pleased. Willie 
shouted for joy at the pleasant news, and gave 
his father no rest until he promised he would, 
that same afternoon, go with him to the forest, 
so as to make some necessary preparations for 
the morrow. Anton willingly gratified the de- 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 141 

lighted boy ; then, too, it was a pleasure to him 
to see such a resource opened again : it fur- 
nished for the housekeeping many a bright gul- 
den; and every one they could earn had its 
use. The nets were put in order, and the dawn 
of the next day found Willie and his father in 
the king’s forest, engaged in their old occupation. 
Even though they were unable to entice into the 
net, at first, the anxiously desired bluebirds, or 
some other rare songster, they could always 
count upon a good capture, and Willie was 
satisfied that they dared again set up their nets. 
The only objection was the great distance of the 
forest from the little log hut. It was not always 
convenient for Anton to accompany him, as his 
fishing required so much of his time. 

“You must often go alone, Willie,” said his 
father. “ I hope you are not afraid.” 

The boy knew no fear. “It will be a little 
lonesome, father,” he answered ; “ that is all. 
I think I can attend to it. I understand a good 
deal about the business, and hope soon to be 


142 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 

expert. If you have to spend half the night 
upon the river in your boat, I think you cer- 
tainly ought to take a few hours’ sleep. When 
your work ends, mine will begin. Then there 
will be no cessation ; and where there is work 
there are wages.” 

This plan was now decided upon : Anton 
could carry on the fishing as before the inun- 
dation, for the busy fingers of Marie and Louisa 
had meanwhile repaired the loss of their nets, 
and by the aid of these Anton could earn con- 
siderably more than with the lines alone. Willie 
applied himself zealously to the bird-catching, 
which was not without success. After a few 
days, he was able to wander again through town 
and village with his little feathered songsters; 
and not more than a week had elapsed when 
another bluebird was caught, and joyfully taken 
home, to be carried, the next day, to the gen- 
tleman who had bespoken it in Konigswinter. 
All was apparently quiet and peaceful as before, 
and the threatening cloud whose first flash had 


ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 143 

almost blinded, for a time, the dwellers in the 
log hut, seemed to have vanished. Tranquilly 
and evenly their days passed away, they dream- 
ing not of evil — when suddenly a new storm 
broke upon the heads of the unsuspecting family 
— this time with heavy, stern, and unrelenting 
fury. 

One day, Willie returned from the forest, 
beaming with joy, and brought with him — not, 
as usual, the little songsters — but a live fawn in 
his arms, which he triumphantly exhibited to 
his mother. 

“ Where did this come from ? ” questioned 
Marie, much more frightened than rejoiced. 
“ How did you come by the deer, Willie ? I 
hope you did not catch it?” 

“ Yes, certainly I caught it, mother,” answered 
the boy; “not upon the baron’s ground and prem- 
ises, but within the hunting circuit of Herr Ober- 
forster. The poor little creature had fallen into 
a deep ditch, and might have been dashed to 
pieces. Fortunately I had not yet touched my 


144 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

breakfast. I jumped down into the ditch, and 
soon rescued the poor, pretty little thing from 
its pitiable situation, and fed him with the bread 
and milk you had given me this morning. The 
pretty animal was not at all timid or frightened, 
but ate out of my hand with the greatest eager- 
ness. When it was fully satisfied, it allowed me 
to take it in my arms, and did not even once 
make an effort to escape. I hardly knew what 
I ought to do with it, when I had, with some 
trouble, climbed out of the ditch ; but it occur- 
red to me that the very best thing I could do 
would be to take it to Herr Oberforster, and tell 
him all about it. I did so; and when I had 
told him how it happened, he clapped me upon 
my shoulder, and praised me for having acted so 
honorably as to bring it to him at once. * You 
can keep the young deer, if you wish,’ said he. 
* It has lost its mother, and would only perish 
if we were to set it free. Take it with you to 
your home, if it will afford you any amuse- 
ment.’ The present was so great, I could not at 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 145 

first believe that he was in earnest,” continued 
Willie ; “ and when he assured me that I could 
take the fawn along with me, I shouted aloud 
for joy, thanking him as heartily as I could, and 
then sprang as fast as it was possible through 
the wood to our hut, because I knew you too, 
mother, would be glad to have the lovely little 
animal. Only see how charming it is ! What a 
soft skin, and what large, beautiful, soft eyes it 
has ! I can let it play around the yard, can’t I, 
mother ? ” 

“ Yes, that thou canst,” said Frau Marie. “ It 
is certainly a darling little creature, and so 
tame ! Father, too, will be glad it was given to 
you ; for plenty of food can be found for it here 
in the forest.” 

Willie and little Anna were made perfectly 
happy by the possession of the fawn. They took 
it into the little enclosure, which was fenced off* 
from their garden, and let it leap and frolic 
about as it would ; and, although it was lively 
and brisk, yet it was so confiding that it would 
13 K 


146 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

'eat out of their hands. In the exuberance of 
their joy, they did not observe the young 
baron pass by, and, in doing so, cast a spying 
glance over the lattice. As he saw the deer, 
he smiled maliciously, but rode on without a 
word, after having, for a short time, watched 
the children at their sport. No one had noticed 
him but Louisa ; and his appearance was a mat- 
ter of such indifference to her that she had not 
even thought of mentioning that she had seen 
him. 

Soon after midday, having disposed of his fish, 
Anton returned to his home; and was at once 
led to the fawn by Willie, who related to him 
how it came to be in his possession. 

“ As Herr Oberforster has given it to you, cer- 
tainly you can keep it,” said his father, while he 
gazed with sincere pleasure upon the charming 
little creature. “ I must not neglect asking him 
to mention the circumstance to our baron; it 
might look as though we had come into posses- 
sion of the ‘deer in a dishonest manner, which 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 147 

might be followed with some evil result. Our 
baron is not to be trusted, and therefore we must 
be prudent/’ 

It was unfortunate that Louisa did not hear 
these words, or she certainly would have men- 
tioned that the young knight had passed, and had 
observed the children, playing with the deer. 

Anton, hearing nothing of all this, postponed 
until the next day the calling upon the high-for- 
ester, seeing no necessity for such haste ; but bit- 
terly had he cause to regret his neglect. 

It was evening, and the happy little family 
sought repose with hearts free from care, and 
dreamed not of coming ill ; when suddenly, to- 
ward midnight, they were aroused out of their 
peaceful slumbers by a heavy continuous pound- 
ing at their door. Anton sprang to the window, 
and saw, with astonishment, the door guarded 
by a little troop of officers of the law. 

“What is the matter, my friends?” he inquired 
from his open window. “ Why have you come 
here at this time of night? ” 


148 ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 

“ To arrest you, fisher Anton ! ” answered the 
the sergeant, who accompanied the officers of the 
law. “ I am heartily sorry that I must proceed 
against an old acquaintance ; but it is com- 
manded, and it would be useless to refuse.” 

“How? arrest me? me? Thou dost dream, 
good Anselm ! ” replied Anton. “ I have broken 
no law ! ” 

“ There must be something wrong : my order 
is explicit to arrest you and your son Wil- 
lie, for poaching ; the young knight has en- 
tered the complaint, and himself ordered the 
arrest.” 

“ Ah ! now I understand,” answered Anton ; 
“ the fawn, the poor little fawn, is the innocent 
cause of all this trouble! Well, Anselm, lead 
us forth ; we go leaning upon our God ; to-night 
thou wilt shut us up, but before to-morrow noon 
thou wilt release us. My Willie had a young 
deer presented to him by the high-forester, and 
that circumstance has been used for the pur- 
pose of criminating and persecuting us. Wait 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 149 

a few moments, Anselm : we have to dress our- 
selves, and then we will be ready to go with 
you.” 

“You will not leave the house secretly?” 
asked the sergeant. 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” replied Anton. “ No ! no ! 
I shall be glad to see the embarrassment of your 
baron to-morrow when confronted by the Herr 
Oberfdrster : it may teach him a lesson, to leave 
us for the future in peace. Wait but a moment, 
Anselm ! we will come down.” 

Hastily Anton and Willie threw on their 
clothing. Marie, perfectly composed meanwhile 
with regard to the arrest, which, as she thought, 
could only last for a few hours, promised Anton 
she would send Louisa, as soon as it was light, 
to the forester, and make known to him how 
urgently they needed his assistance and protec- 
tion against this arbitrary arrest of the baron. 

“ There is no doubt, Marie,” he returned, “ but 
that the noble Herr, as soon as he knows how 
pressing the need is, will at once mount his horse 


150 ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 

and bear witness for us : be composed, my dear 
wife, and give yourself no uneasiness.” 

Marie saw, as she supposed, no occasion for 
fear, for she was conscious of their innocence, 
and parted from them quite tranquilly, expect- 
ing, without the shadow of a doubt, to see them 
again the next morning as cheerful and buoy- 
ant as ever. 

“ Here we are, Sergeant Anselm,” said Anton, 
as he and his boy made their appearance. “You 
have only to order where we shall go, and you 
will find us obedient.” 

“ The baron has commanded that I should lock 
you up in the tower,” answered the sergeant. 

“ And the tender, innocent child, too?” 

“Him too ! But do not fear, Anton ; we will see 
that you are well quartered. Come ; and ” — he 
turned to his men — “ two of you bring the deer, 
and any birds you may find about the place, and 
take them to the castle.” 

Willie, who until now had been calm and com- 
posed, cried and sobbed when they took his little 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 151 

darling; but the sergeant soothed him, say- 
ing : “ Be quiet, Willie, don’t distress yourself so 
much : if Herr Oberf orster has given you the 
deer, they will have to return it again, and I 
promise you no harm shall come to the little 
animal.” 

This friendly promise gave Willie some com- 
fort. His father, taking him by the hand, fol- 
lowed, without any resistance, the sergeant to the 
designated prison. On the way they related 
more fully how they had come into possession 
of the deer and birds, and the officer assured 
them that the imprisonment could not last more 
than a few hours. 

But, alas ! it ended very differently from what 
they expected. When Louisa hastened, upon the 
following morning, to Herr Oberfbrster’s, to ask 
him to appear as a witness, she received the as- 
tounding information that only the day previous 
he had departed upon a journey for an unlimited 
length of time. This sorrowful news was imme- 
diately communicated to Anton, who had already 


152 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

been taken before the registrar. Herr Oberfors- 
ter’s testimony, of itself sufficient to clear Anton 
and Willie from the grave charges preferred 
against them, was Anton’s sole dependence. 

“ See the unblushing liar ! ” jeered the young 
knight, derisively; “he well knows that the 
champion he has mentioned cannot appear, and 
and by this means he hopes to escape. But this 
will not help you, fellow ; the deer and the birds 
have been found in your cottage, and you will be 
sentenced*as a poacher. Make the matter short, 
Herr Registrar! the proofs are at hand, and 
surely you will not listen politely to mere brazen 
denials.” The registrar shrugged his shoulders ; 
and, being less just and upright than the justice, to 
whom Baron Ottfried had prudently not applied, 
suffered himself to be overruled by the violence 
of the baron, as well as misled by the appearance 
of things. He pronounced summary sentence 
“that Anton should, until further proceedings, be 
confined in the dungeon, and that Willie should 
remain in the tower four weeks.” 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 153 


It availed nought that Anton appealed against 
the injustice of this sentence, and invoked the 
justice of Heaven. By the command of the 
baron he was dragged forcibly away; and the 
miserable prisoner was cast into a dungeon 
which was only used for the confinement of the 
worst class of criminals. Poor Willie, when 
they took him back to the tower, wept as though 
his heart would break, and sank sobbing upon 
his hard bed, beseeching God for deliverance 
and help in this his time of need. 




CHAPTER VII. 

THE STRANGERS RETURN. 

“ Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright ; for the 
end of that man is peace.” 

Anton and Willie languished in 
l, the mother and Louisa in the 
wood -hut, upon which a dark 
shadow had fallen, passed the long, sorrowful 
hours in weeping. Their support had been with- 
drawn ; and, at the expiration of a few days, the 
little store they had laid up in reserve was almost 
exhausted, and their need and destitution so 
great that they knew not how to obtain food 
wherewith to appease their hunger : sadly they 
thought of the future. 

But the cup of their sorrow was not yet full : 
their persecutor — not content with tearing from 

154 



ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 155 

them their sole dependence — in order to gratify 
his revenge, rested not until he deprived the 
fatherless family of their only shelter. 

Toward the close of a sorrowful evening, there 
came one of the baron’s servants to the little 
hut, with imperative orders that the poor, de- 
spairing woman should leave the cottage on 
the following- morning, adding that rogues and 
poachers would not be suffered to remain there 
any longer, and intimating that, if they did not 
leave at once, the bailiff would compel them. 

With a heart almost paralyzed through grief 
and despair, Marie could scarcely believe she 
heard this harsh command aright. The sorely 
tried woman, at first, overpowered by this new 
misfortune, sank into the deepest dejection, then 
cried aloud in her bitter anguish. 

“ What will become of us now, Louisa ? what 
now? there is nothing left for us, but that we 
take up our dwelling in the forest, and live, as 
do the birds of the air, under the open sky. 
Al as ! never, never could I have conceived that 


156 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 

heart of man could have been so relentless as 
the breast of that vindictive man ! Louisa, I 
know not what trouble may yet fall upon us.” 

“ Weep not, mother,” returned the noble-minded 
maiden ; “ thou hast ever taught me to place my 
trust in the Lord, and now, in this hour of trial, 
will I, yea, more than ever will I build upon 
the promises of my God: ‘I will say of the 
Lord, he is my refuge, and my fortress.’ Let us 
not fear, mother, but rest in him, waiting patient- 
ly for him. Has he not said that he will not 
leave us nor forsake us ? ‘ His mercy endureth 
for ever.’ Can we not sing now, as in times past : 

A mighty fortress is our God, 

A trusty shield and weapon ; 

He helps us free from every need 
That hath us now o’ertaken. : 

The Lord will provide, dear mother. I will at 
once go into the village, and see if I cannot get 
a place in some good family ; and you, mother, 
and little Anna, can go back to our old Aunt 
Dorothea’s : she will receive you kindly, I know ; 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 157 

it will only be for a short time. Father and Willie 
are guiltless, and as soon as Herr Oberforster 
returns from his journey, their innocence will be 
proved, and they will be released from confine- 
ment. Be comforted, dear mother ; cast not away 
your confidence ; God has always helped us, and 
he will help us to the end! Our necessity is 
great, and our hearts are bowed down with sor- 
row, but it is ever true 4 that when the need is 
sorest, God’s help is nearest.’” 

“ Alas ! the Lord has turned away his face 
from us,” answered Marie, in the depth of her 
despair. “ Since the fearful inundation, we have 
known neither peace nor freedom from care. I 
do well to be faint-hearted, if God has with- 
drawn his helping hand from us.” 

“ What God does, darling mother,” replied 
Louisa, with beautiful confidence, “he doeth 
well ! If the rod of sorrow seem to be suspended 
over our heads, who has said to us that chastise- 
ment is for our profit, not as a punishment? Are 
we able to fathom the thoughts of God ? No, my 


14 


158 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

dear, brave mother must not now be faint-hearted, 
if the sunshine of heaven is hidden by clouds : 
the clouds pass away as a breath of air, but the 
sun shines ever radiant in the firmament. Suffer 
me to help you, dear mother : I am going to the 
village ; in a few hours I will return, and then 
thou wilt see that the shadows which now darken 
our sky will have become less obscure.” 

Louisa was soon ready, and Marie with sorrow 
suffered her to depart. The noble girl, in her 
artlessness, had decided upon the best course 
that could have been adopted in their present 
situation, and resolutely she carried out her 
design. But two hours had passed when she 
returned cheerfully from the village. 

“ All is well, darling mother,” she said ; “ old 
Martin will give me employment ; and even if I 
earn but little, it will still be something for us. 
Aunt Dorothea bids thee come ; she will welcome 
thee heartily. The whole village feels for us the 
kindest sympathy, and all are indignant at the 
tyranny of the baron. No one considers father 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 159 

guilty. Cheer up, mother! God has disposed 
the hearts of all kindly toward us, and it cannot 
be long until father and Willie will be again 
free.” 

“ And what then — what then, Louisa ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” answered the dauntless maiden : 
“stands it not written, ‘Thou shalt take no 
thought for the morrow ; 5 and still further, 
‘ God, who feeds the young ravens, will not suffer 
thee to hunger/ Take courage, dear mother! 
after the storm, the blue heavens are infinitely 
more beautiful.” 

Marie’s fainting spirit was refreshed by these 
comforting words. She roused herself from the 
stupor of her grief, and cast, with a powerful 
effort, the sorrow from her soul. 

“ Come, then, let us go, my child ! ” she said. 
“Not another night will that wicked man permit 
us to remain under this roof! ” 

Instantly preparing to leave the hut, she 
gathered their trifling effects, made of them a 
bundle, and placing their only treasure, the Bible, 


160 ANTON, THE FIS HERMAN. 

on top, she tied them together, and left the wood- 
hut, under whose thatched roof they had passed 
so few happy, peaceful hours. Taking her child 
by the hand, and carrying her bundle with the as- 
sistance of Louisa, she took her way to the village, 
and was received kindly and hospitably by Aunt 
Dorothea. The little cottage would conveniently 
accommodate but two ; and Louisa declared her 
intention of at once entering into service at old 
Martin’s, so as not to be an additional burden to 
her mother and aunt. Marie would have de- 
tained her, but her persuasions were in vain : 
the devoted girl went forth, fleet as the wind, 
bearing with her the best blessings of her 
mother. 

A few more days passed in grief and sadness. 
Fisher Anton and his son remained shut up in 
prison ; and still no intimation of Herr Ober- 
forster’s return from his journey. Poor Marie 
had paid out her last kreuzer, and deeply did she 
grieve that she and her little Anna would now 
be wholly dependent upon the poor old aunt, 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 161 

who, although willing to share with her all she 
possessed, had but little to share. On the fourth 
day, after a hard struggle, she almost came to 
the conclusion that she would go up to the castle 
and implore the baron to take compassion upon 
her husband ; although she entertained but little 
hope of a favorable result. Wishing to consult 
with Louisa before determining upon this course, 
and perhaps indulging the hope that the cour- 
ageous girl would accompany her — for sorrow 
had now bowed down her brave spirit — she 
hastened to the farm of old Martin, Louisa 
soothed her sad heart with her cheering, hopeful 
words, and returned with her to the little cottage. 

They found no one at home but little Anna — 
Aunt Dorothea had gone to the field. The child 
sat at a small table, and before her lay the Bible, 
in which, but a short time before, the poor, des- 
pairing mother had sought comfort and strength 
in her dire distress. The little one, well pleased, 
was gazing at the many pretty pictures the book 
contained. She evidently had been playing with 
14* L 


162 ANTON , THE FISHER 31 AN. 

it for some time, for Marie saw that she had tom 
the cover of the precious, holy book, and had open- 
ed her mouth to reprove her — when she espied a 
paper, yellow with age, between the cover and the 
binding. With some curiosity she drew it out, 
cast upon it one look, and, with a loud cry, half 
of astonishment, half of rapture, she sank upon 
a chair, white and trembling, reason almost 
tottering through the ecstasy of her joy. 

“My darling mother, what means this?” cried 
Louisa, greatly alarmed. 

“ Nothing bad,” replied Marie, as she regained 
her self-possession, handing her the paper at the 
same time. Wondrous the joy ! “ See : our God 
has guided the fingers of the child ; the so long- 
hidden bond of the baron ! My dear father con- 
fided it to the keeping of his most sacred treasure . 
— and God has suffered us to find it through the 
hand of the child ! ” 

Louisa stood wondering and amazed. “ Oh ! 
this Bible! ” she exclaimed, looking up to heaven. 
“ Rememberest thou not, mother, that was the 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 163 

sole thing thou didst save from the devastation 
of the inundation! In guarding the heavenly 
treasure, thou didst obtain the earthly : truly this 
is God’s providence, mother ! ” 

“ God’s providence ! ” repeated Marie. “ Oh ! 
how I thank my Father in heaven, who so vis- 
ibly has manifested his grace toward us ! How I 
thank him ! My soul doth magnify the Lord ! 
Now are we saved, and even this very day will 
father and Willie be with us ! ” 

“Yes, saved!” repeated a deep, rich voice 
from the door, which had been so softly opened 
that neither of them had noticed it. “ At last, 
at last I find that for which my soul has longed 
for years ! and now call I, come ! come ! that I 
may gather you to my heart ! ” 

With astonishment the little family gazed 
upon the stately form of the stranger, who stood 
before them with radiant countenance and ex- 
tended arms. And now Marie recognized him. 

“You are the one, dear sir,” she said — “you 
are the one whom my husband and Louisa res- 


164 ANTON , THE FISHERMAN. 

cued from the church-tower, when the inunda- 
tion surprised us. You are heartily welcome! 
My poor Anton cannot greet you, for he lan- 
guishes in the dungeon, though innocent — im- 
prisoned, but — ” 

“ Who says that he is imprisoned ? ” returned 
the stranger. “See! Marie; here is thy husband, 
and here thy boy ! ” 

He threw wide open the door, and both Willie 
and Anton rushed in. With happy, blessed tears 
of joy and thankfulness the long-separated ones 
fell into each other’s arms — and saw not how 
the stranger advanced toward Louisa, and, bow- 
ing down, softly whispered to the startled maiden ; 
nor yet saw they how Louisa, white as snow, tot- 
tered back, then suddenly threw herself upon the 
stranger’s breast, who, with ardent love, pressed 
her to his heart. They heard not the cry of 
Louisa, nor the sweet, sweet, endearing words 
that trembled upon her lips, and which were 
returned by the stranger — until, at length, 
Marie released herself from the arms of her 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN 165 

husband, and gazed, with astonishment, upon 
the stranger and her foster-daughter. Raising 
his head, and with his arm thrown around Lou- 
isa, he asked Marie, “ Lost thou not remember 
me?” 

Marie looked at him inquiringly for a mo- 
ment, then the same presentiment of some months 
before flashed upon her anew. “ Can it - — can it 
be possible ? ” she asked. “ You are — ” 

“To my heart, sister!” he interrupted. “Yes, 
I am Oscar Murray, the Scot, thy brother; 
and this child, that you have cared for and 
cherished — my Louisa, the dear remembrance 
of my beloved wife — is my child, my daugh- 
ter!” 

What a reunion, filled with jDy and pain, 
with sadness and rapture, after so long a sepa- 
ration ! Tears were wept, many tears, sorrowful 
and joyous, before the deeply agitated hearts 
regained composure, or could listen to the ex- 
planation of this so utterly unexpected return. 

Hours passed before their deep emotion was 


166 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 


subdued; then the wonderful discovery of the 
long-lost bond was told by Marie; and, as the 
twilight drew near and deepened, our friends all 
gathered together around the table in the lowly 
cottage, the old aunt rejoicing with them, while 
— the stranger no longer, but the loved father 
and friend — related to attentive listeners the 
remarkable events which had separated him, for 
so many years, from his loved ones. 

We will, in few words, give his narration: 
Upon his journey to his fatherland, which he 
had taken for the purpose of converting his 
goods into money, intending after that to return, 
and ever dwell upon the banks of the Rhine, 
the vessel in which he embarked had been cast 
away in a storm, and taken by an Algerine 
pirate. He had been carried to Tunis, where 
he dragged out long years of servitude ; and but 
a few months since had he been so fortunate as 
to save himself by flight, reaching at length his 
native land, and accomplishing the original ob- 
ject of his journey. From there he had written 


ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 167 


to them that he would soon arrive ; and it was 
not long until he followed the letter, which had 
never reached its destination. Without his hav- 
ing any knowledge of the fact, he had remained 
over night in the village where his child lived, 
when he was overtaken by the inundation ; and 
his daughter it was who, by God’s providence, 
had assisted to rescue her unknown father. He 
had parted from Anton in the hope of soon 
again returning ; but a severe attack of sickness, 
induced, in all probability, by the circumstances 
accompanying the inundation, had detained him 
in Emmenbach, the native place of Marie. He 
had, during his sickness there, made inquiry 
about them, and received information of the 
death of his wife and her father; and nothing 
but the news of his daughter’s existence was 
able to mitigate the pain of this sorrowful infor- 
mation. He heard, too, where Louisa had found 
a home, and that the name of her foster-father 
was the same as that of his rescuer. 

“ So then I returned to this place,” said he, 


168 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

closing his narrative, “ made inquiry after 
Anton, and heard that he languished in prison. 
On account of some peculiar circumstances, 1 
knew a word from me to the baron would be 
sufficient to release him. That was soon accom- 
plished, and a short explanation informed Anton 
of all. Asking where you had taken refuge, we 
were directed here; and this is how I found — 
deeply grateful to my God — my loved child. 
Your kindness and love to her makes me your 
everlasting debtor. 

“And now about yourselves,” he continued. 
“You are poor, Anton; poor, my dear sister. 
From now on — ” 

“ Stop ! stop ! Oscar,” eagerly interrupted Ma- 
rie; “not poor — we are rich! and the old, 
and, for a short time, lost happiness, smiles 
again upon us with kindly eye. Our God, who 
cast us down, has again exalted us, and in a 
single day has restored to us blessings which we 
never expected to enjoy, or scarcely dared hope 
to find. God has done it ; and as with misfor- 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 169 

tunes, so with blessings — they never come 
alone.” 

And she related the incidents of the past sor- 
rowful days — their ejection from the wood-hut 
by the baron ; their grief and destitution ; the 
faithful devotion of Louisa ; the wonderful find- 
ing of the bond. With clouded brow did the 
father of Louisa listen to this relation. 

“ God gives you still more than your former 
happiness — - he gives you the power to revenge 
yourselves upon your enemy for every evil he 
has done to you. The baron is a beggar to-mor- 
row, if I do not purchase his castle and estate ; 
and now only one word from you, and — ” 

“ Thou, Oscar ! thou purchase the castle ! ” 
interrupted Marie. “ Art thou then rich ? ” 

“ So rich, Marie,” answered he, smiling, “ that 
I could fill all thy pockets with gold, and still 
buy three such castles as the baron’s, without 
making any very great inroad upon my means ; 
and what is mine belongs also to the foster- 
parents of my beloved daughter Louisa.” 

15 


170 ANTON, THE FISHERMAN. 

“ No, no ! Oscar ; thou frightenest me ! ” cried 
Marie. “We need nothing. See! here is the 
bond ! The baron can no longer deny his debt, 
but must 4 honorably and truly pay’ the five 
hundred gulden which he so long ago borrowed 
from my father ; and after that,” she continued, 
turning to her husband, with a radiant counte- 
nance — “after that — Anton, is it not true? — 
we will rebuild our loved cottage, and live as 
before, in peaceful happiness, in plenty, and 
content ! ” 

Anton bowed his head — he could not speak 
— and clasped her hand. 

“ But the baron ! what of him ? I repeat it 
to you, he is in my power : all his creditors have 
come to me to settle their claims, for I certainly 
entertained the design of purchasing the castle, 
and the baron is forced to sell ; a word from 
you, and he, together with his son, will occupy a 
debtor’s prison! How shall it be? will you not 
revenge yourselves, when I put him in your 
hands ! ” 


ANTON ; THE FISHERMAN. 171 

Marie and Anton silently gazed upon each 
other; both smiled and pressed each other’s 
hands. 

“You still hesitate?” said Oscar; “and this 
man has so persistently followed you with his 
malignity ? ” 

“But thou dost forget, brother,” said Marie, 
gently. “God has followed us with so much 
goodness and mercy, and has poured out upon 
us such rich blessings; were revenge a thank- 
offering for his grace and compassion ? no, no, 
my friend ! ” 

“But surely thou, Anton?” asked Oscar. 

“ I sing praises unto my God,” answered An- 
ton; “where shall I find room for bitterness, hate, 
and revenge ? May God forgive the baron, even 
as I forgive him from my heart ! ” 

“Oh! noble, upright friends,” cried Oscar, 
deeply moved, pressing his newly found rela- 
tives to his heart, “so let it be : no revenge ! only 
peace, joy, love, and blessedness.” 

“And everlasting thanks to our Father in 


172 ANTON, THE FISHERMA N 


heaven, who has led us through darkness to 
light, through sorrow to joy ! ” spake Marie ; and 
“Amen!” responded they all, from their deeply 
moved hearts. 

Upon the beautiful shores of the Rhine, they 
live in peace and happiness — in humility and 
gratitude toward God. If thou shouldst inquire 
after them, if all is well, thou wilt surely receive 
the answer: “Yes, God’s best blessing rests upon 
them! Herr Murray, Anton, and all; upright, 
noble people are they.” 

“Mark the perfect man, and behold the up- 
right; for the end of that man is peace.” 





















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